


How to Save a Life (Or: The Road Trip From Hell)

by some_fantastic



Category: The Following
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_fantastic/pseuds/some_fantastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roderick kidnaps Mike from the hospital, taking the young agent on the run with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fast Car

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little plot bunny I had hanging around. Gen for now, but eventual Roderick/Mike.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know you're not as stupid as you look, pup. Did you really think we were all going to make it out of this alive?"

Michael Emerson Weston.

Roderick wasn't sure why he couldn't get the thought of the agent out of his head. Weston had been stubborn, stupid beyond all comprehension. Roderick really would have let him go if they had learned where Claire was. Obviously there'd be some kind of accident between the time Mike left the shipyard and returned to his hotel room, but Roderick didn't break promises. But now... now he was in the hospital, flashing a stolen FBI badge at anyone who gave him a sideways glance. Roderick didn't know exactly why he was here, but he planned on paying his favourite agent a little visit.

Somewhere in between wandering aimlessly (he was _not_ lost, he didn't get _lost_ ) and convincing a set of doctors he was here to take Weston home, he found the correct room. Mike was asleep when Roderick slipped in, but he knew that wouldn't last for long. Roderick was well aware of what happened when you survived something like what Weston had gone through. You stopped sleeping, eating, trusting people. Either that or you started trusting all the wrong people. Roderick hoped Mike would fall into the latter category.

"Wakey wakey," he murmured, standing near the bed and crossing his arms. "You've got a visitor."

Mike let out a groan in his sleep. Roderick tilted his head curiously and watched. Mike started murmuring, pleading. Had it really been this bad? Maybe he was getting nightmares. The thought certainly sounded appealing, but Roderick wished he could see what Mike was seeing. Call it curiosity. Finally, he grew impatient with Mike's sleep-rambling, and reached out. He grabbed Mike's shoulder and shook him. "Come on, up and at 'em, agent."

Mike's eyes opened and he sat bolt upright when he realized he wasn't the only one in the room. Roderick graciously took a step back to give him some room. Mike's eyes were wide, and he looked afraid. Oh...that was _delicious_. Roderick couldn't help a laugh. Mike, on the other hand, looked less than happy to see him.

 _What is he doing here?_ Mike thought. Maybe this was still a nightmare. He dug his fingernails into his wrist, but the pain did nothing to jolt him out of it. Roderick was really here. He was coming to finish the job. What could he do? Mike didn't want to call for help. Roderick could hurt somebody else. He wouldn't be responsible for dragging innocent civilians into this mess. Not him.

"Why are you here?" Mike asked. He licked his lips, shifting away slightly. Roderick smiled.

"What, I can't pay a visit to an old friend? I heard you survived your little run in with our friend Charlie. I came to see how you were doing."

"Oh, was that his name?" Mike took a deep breath, folding his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. "If you want information, you'll have to look elsewhere." Roderick should know that. They had stabbed Mike and he still wouldn't give up Claire's location. Why did Roderick think visiting him now would prove to be any different? This time, it was just one on one. They were evenly matched in terms of wits, or so Mike liked to think. He knew he'd be less than useless if it came down to a fight, however.

"Oh, no," Roderick said. He sat down on the edge of the bed, smiling at Mike. "Not here for information. I'm sure you'll be happy to know we actually found Claire without your help." Yes, the look on Mike's face was everything he had hoped it'd be. That was how people looked when they knew everything was lost. Claire had been their one trump card, and now she was in Joe's hands. Roderick couldn't resist taunting Mike a little more. "She actually came along quite willingly when we told her we had Joey. She's not a very talkative woman, however. I have no idea what Joe sees in her." He made a face and shook his head. "Pity your little friend Ryan couldn't do anything to stop her."

Mike took a deep breath, biting the inside of his cheek. "Maybe you should have tried that first. How did Joe react when he found out you failed?" The smile immediately disappeared from Roderick's face. A good man had died because of Weston.

"Charlie died because of you," he said coldly. "Joe killed him. He wanted his life to mean something, and you took that away. So he let Joe kill him." One hand shot out, grabbing Mike by the throat. Roderick squeezed, enjoying the way Weston's skin began to redden. "He was a good man, Weston. This one's on you." Mike's hands clawed at his wrist, and Roderick only let go when Mike broke the skin. He laughed, pulling back and studying the scratch. After licking away the blood, he stood. Mike gasped for breath, one hand going to his throat. He looked up at Roderick with wide blue eyes. He really was pretty when he was injured, Roderick decided.

"Look at you." Roderick tilted his head, a smile crossing his face. A sudden idea crossed his mind. It wasn't what he had come here originally for. He just needed to blow off steam. But Mike had gotten him thinking about Charlie. How many more good people would have to die before this was over?

It wasn't a new idea. Roderick had been thinking about it ever since Joe had hit him. It was when he had realized. Joe didn't care about any of these people. He was good at acting, but he didn't really care. Not like Roderick did. He was the one who had gathered them all together. Not Joe. Roderick had been running this show for nine years. Joe had taken that away from him. Clearly he wasn't an integral part of the plan anymore. It was funny, really. Roderick had assumed that they would do this together. But now...now he was sure the plan didn't involve his survival. If Joe didn't die, he would. How many followers would be left alive after everything that had happened? So maybe this was a good idea. Get out while the going was good.

Roderick chuckled, and the sound of it made Mike tense slightly. He forced himself to keep from looking. Roderick wanted his attention? Mike was not going to give that away freely. Instead, he pretended to be intensely interested in one of the machines next to him. It was beeping regularly, although Mike didn't exactly know what it did when in relation to keeping him alive.

 _Where's the machine that goes PING?_  he thought, stifling a hysteric giggle. Roderick scowled, grabbing Mike's jaw. He was surprisingly gentle, pulling Mike to face him, tilting his chin up with one long finger. "I guess an FBI puppy like you doesn't know what it's  _really_  like to kill someone, huh?" He leaned a little closer, pressing gently on the spot under Mike's chin. "You've never killed someone just for fun. Never gotten a knife and" -he reached out with his free hand, pressing lightly against the wound in Mike's stomach- "watched it  _slide_  in. It's not as hard as you think."

Mike hissed in a breath, unable to move away. He gritted his teeth to distract him from the pain. Roderick stared at him, smirking dangerously. "People can't lie, not when they're dying." He thought about that statement for a moment. "Well, most people. Obviously there are  _exceptions_  to every rule." Roderick pushed down harder, feeling the stitches and scarring under his fingers. The noise Mike emitted made him laugh.

"Now, I'm sure we would have broken you." Roderick abruptly pulled away. Mike let out a gasp, doubling over as much as he could in the bed. He wrapped his arms around himself, shoulders shaking. "However, your little friend Hardy had to show up and ruin the fun." He stood, gesturing slightly. "It's a damn shame, really. Just when we were getting started." He laughed and shook his head, leaning towards Mike. "You would have  _loved_  round four." Mike managed to look up at Roderick. He was entirely sure the exact opposite was true.

He should come along. Roderick had been thinking about that too. As a general rule, he didn't care about people. He got attached sometimes (Charlie had been proof of that) but he didn't really _care_ about them. This was just another stupid attachment. Mike had been the first person who hadn't broken after everything they'd thrown at him. Normally people died screaming. Mike had been prepared to go out without a second thought. He was willing to die for the cause. Not unlike a certain person Roderick knew.

"You know," he said casually, "we're not so different, you and me." Roderick smiled, dragging a chair over to the bed and making himself comfortable. After a moment he made a face. "Shit, how do you people stand sitting in these?" He stood up almost immediately, pulling a face. Mike looked nonplussed.

"What point are you trying to make?" he asked. Roderick pursed his lips, thinking for a moment.

"Well, you know. You've got your buddy Ryan to teach you everything you need to know. And I've got Joe. Just interesting to think about, isn't it?" He smiled and gestured vaguely, shaking his head after a moment. "Obviously I'm not comparing myself to you. There isn't even a challenge in that. I'm me, and you're...sadly lacking." He smiled and patted Mike's knee, looking sympathetic. "Don't worry. There's always room for improvement."

Mike tilted his head slightly, but didn't speak. Instead, he eyed the bag Roderick brought in with him. It gave him something to focus on other than the pain. Roderick noticed him looking after a moment, and Mike flinched as a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Michael." He laughed in Mike's ear, swiping his fingers through Mike's hair as he pulled away. Mike swung, trying to smack Roderick's hand away. The grin Roderick was wearing only made him feel that much worse. "But I bet you'd like to know what's in there, wouldn't you?" He clapped his hands together, grinning. "Don't worry, it's nothing bad."

"Really." Mike shifted uncomfortably, leaning back and making a face. His stomach still hurt, and he was pretty sure the warmth he was feeling meant he ripped a stitch or something. Roderick ignored him, walked over to the bag, and picked it up. He carried it back to the bed, opening it and pulling something out. He tossed a bundle of clothes at Mike and walked around the bed to poke at one of the machines Mike was attached to. Mike caught the clothes, unfolding an entire outfit. He realized that it looked familiar, and it took a moment to sink in that these were actually _his clothes_. Why did Roderick have these? "What's going on?" Mike asked. Roderick looked up from the heart monitor before heaving an exasperated sigh.

"You're coming with me. You're about to get cleared for release anyway. Call it...speeding up the process." Roderick gave Mike a crooked grin, reaching around and tapping the monitor. "Get dressed. We don't have a whole lot of time here."

"Why would I come with you? You tried to _kill_ me."

"I know you're not as stupid as you look, pup. Did you really think we were all going to make it out of this alive?" Roderick walked over to the bed, tugging on Mike's arm. Mike protested, but Roderick ignored it. They didn't have a whole lot of time here. He had to plan things in the span between Mike's release order and the actual arrival of the FBI. He didn't want to get caught in a firefight again. "We're nothing to Joe's little plot. Guys like you and me, we're replaceable. Sure, the audience gets attached to the lovable side characters, but don't think for a second that you can't be killed off. I'm just evening the curve here."

"Why me?" Mike picked up his shirt, smoothing it out between his hands. Roderick looked frustrated. _We really don't have_ time _for this, Michael, quit being such a prick_. He shut down his thoughts, trying to hurry Mike along.

"Because you're stubborn. Pretty. You were willing to die instead of giving Claire up. Take your pick. I like you, Michael. You've got spirit. And I hate to see that go to waste. Ergo, we're leaving. _Now_." Mike's brow furrowed, and his bright blue eyes darkened considerably. Roderick held his gaze, crossing his arms. Finally, Mike shoved the blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Roderick watched as he stood on shaky legs. The hospital gown didn't hide much, but he kept his eyes on Mike's face. Mike dressed as quickly as he could - that is to say, not quickly at all. While he managed to get a shirt on with relative ease, his jeans were something else altogether.

Mike struggled for a moment. He managed to get one leg in, but balancing and trying to pull on the other proved to be a bit of a challenge. Roderick crossed his arms impatiently, waiting. "Seriously?" he asked. "Grown man can't put his pants on?" The glare Mike gave him could have shattered glass. Roderick didn't look away.

"You know, you're awfully impatient," Mike commented. He managed to pick up his shoes and socks. Putting them on...that was a whole new challenge.

"I just don't want your real escort to show up and ruin all the fun," Roderick retorted. He watched Mike struggle to pull on his socks before giving up and walking around the bed. "You're pathetic. Here." He knelt in front of Mike, grabbing one of his ankles. Mike quickly started to protest, but Roderick cut him off. "We're going to be here all day at this rate." He pulled Mike's socks on for him, then picked up one of his shoes. When they were on Mike's feet, tied up and secure, Roderick stood. He repacked the bag and walked over to the door.

"Excuse me?" he called, poking his head out. "We're all packed up." The pretty nurse smiled, placing her magazine back down on the chair and walking over to the door. Roderick generously allowed her to pass by him and into the room, eyeing Mike over her shoulder. He pulled his jacket back slightly, revealing the gun in its holster. _Don't fuck this up, Michael_. Mike smiled tightly as the nurse checked him over and forced him into a wheelchair.

"There we go," the nurse said cheerfully. She patted Mike's shoulder and pushed him over to the door. Roderick intervened, taking control of the wheelchair. He dropped the duffel bag into Mike's lap, flashing the nurse a thousand-watt smile.

"Let me get that for you, miss. No need to trouble yourself." Roderick took hold of Mike's wheelchair, patting his shoulder. The nurse giggled and allowed him to take control. Roderick followed her down the hallway, every second making him a little more tense. He tapped his foot all the way through form signing, lectures from the doctors, all of it. What if the real FBI showed up?

Finally, though, they were out of the hospital and in the parking lot. Roderick could have laughed if he wasn't so busy concentrating. Getting found out could mean a lot more than just losing Weston. Roderick liked his head right where it was, thanks. When they made it to the SUV Roderick had procured, he finally let out a sigh of relief. The nurse helped Mike stand, and Roderick opened the passenger side door.

Roderick helped Mike into the SUV, practically lifting him into the seat. He bid goodbye to the nurse, thankful that chapter was finally over. Once he was sure Weston was settled, Roderick walked around to the driver's side. He tossed the bag in the backseat before climbing in and pulling the keys out of his jacket pocket. Mike looked over at him, almost shrinking away.

"So," Roderick said casually. He started up the vehicle, pulling out of the parking lot. Mike crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the window. Roderick let the word hang in the air. Mike didn't look much like talking, after all. Besides, they'd have a long drive to get to know each other.


	2. Pit Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only one bed.

Mike was asleep when Roderick finally decided he'd had enough of driving. Of course, If he'd had his way, they wouldn't be stopping at all until they got to the safe house he had procured. But it was nearing "it's one in the goddamn morning" o'clock and there was no way he was just going to _pull over_ to get some rest. Maybe he could force Mike to drive for a while.

It must be late. His ideas were getting stupider. Weston would probably just turn them right back around, and then Roderick would spend the rest of his life rotting in prison.

With a sigh, he pulled off the road and into a motel parking lot. The flickering sign was ten kinds of creepy (then again, he was probably the scariest thing on the roads) but Roderick didn't really care by this point. As he turned off the vehicle, Roderick looked over at Weston. It was incredibly tempting to wake him up, but the kid actually looked like he was getting rest for once. He slipped out of the SUV instead, quietly closing the door behind him. This was a bad idea. The parking lot was nearly full, and that was bound to raise some kind of attention. He made a mental note to try and keep a low profile.

As Roderick walked into the lobby building, the bell above the door jingled merrily. He shot a glare at it and approached the desk. The whole place smelled musty, like it hadn't been cleaned in a long time. With the way the place looked, he was betting it hadn't. Roderick eyed the grimy surface of the front desk, deciding not to lean on it.There was a single girl sitting there, chin on her hands. She was staring at a laptop positioned on the desk, headphones in place.

"Excuse me," Roderick said loudly. The girl didn't move. Roderick could hear music coming from the headphones, tinny and echoing. "Excuse me!" _Move, you little bitch_. Still nothing. With a sigh, Roderick leaned forwards and hooked a finger around the earbuds' cord. He yanked one out, standing up and flashing the girl a thousand-watt smile. "Hi."

"How can I help you?" The tone of her voice suggested she'd like to do exactly the opposite. Roderick kept his smile on, all the while imagining strangling her. She'd probably knock over that hideous laptop.

"I need a room for the night." All of a sudden, the infernal bell above the door chimed again. Roderick figured it was probably the lateness of the evening combined with being stuck in a car for several hours previously, but he really wanted nothing more than to smash that bell. He glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Mike. _Damn kid can't stay in the vehicle_ \- "Hey, buddy. Sleep well?" Mike stifled a yawn, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Well enough," he replied tonelessly. Mike walked over to the desk, shoulder brushing Roderick's. The girl eyed Mike warily, taking in his injuries. The bruises had more or less faded, but the places where his skin had split were still healing. Mike knew how rough he looked, and he could tell this girl was halfway to calling the police. He dug around in his pocket for his identification, flashing her his FBI badge.

"Just the one night. Please." Mike leaned forwards, eyeing the name tag. "Mary." He smiled, but figured that probably made things look worse and dropped it quickly. Mary stared at them for a long moment before sighing and tapping something in on the computer.

"King or two queens?"

"Two queens." The girl muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "I'll bet," but Mike ignored it. He jabbed an elbow into Roderick's side before he opened his mouth. There was no way he was sharing a bed with a serial killer. Mike didn't even find the idea of sharing a room appealing. Maybe he could just sleep in the vehicle. That would definitely be safer. What was he doing here anyway? Roderick was a wanted fugitive. Or he would be, once word got out that they were missing. Did Joe know about this? Was this just a ploy to bring him to Joe? Mike watched as the girl fumbled around with the computer. His fingers itched. Maybe Roderick would let him go back for his laptop.

"Sorry. We're all out of doubles. Is one king okay?" Roderick and Mike exchanged glances.

 _You have_  got _to be kidding me_ , Mike thought.

" _Sure_ ," Roderick said, voice tight. He pulled out his wallet and extracted a few bills, handing them over. In return, he received two room keys. Roderick tossed one to Mike, smirking when Mike fumbled and nearly dropped it. "Thank you for your time." Mary waved her hand, putting her earbuds back in and settling on the desk once again.

 _Bitch_ , Roderick thought. He imagined jumping over the desk, wrapping his hands around that pretty throat. It was harder to strangle someone like that, but ultimately more satisfying.

As he walked out of the building, Mike in tow, Roderick had a smile on his face. They'd be able to get some sleep soon. He walked back to the SUV, unlocking it and opening up the back. Locating the bag he had taken from Weston's hotel room, Roderick pulled it out and dropped it on the pavement. He pulled out one of his own as well. Roderick slung one bag over his shoulder, picking up Mike's as well. He waved off Mike's look of concern and pointed him towards the room. "Go." Mike huffed and headed towards the building, unlocking and shouldering open the door. 

Roderick followed, only to have the door slam in his face before he even made it in. He stared at it for a full minute before sighing and digging out his own key. As he opened the door, he shot a look at Mike. "You know, I knew you were young. But I never thought you'd be that childish." He tossed Mike's bag onto the floor, setting his own down on a chair. After shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up, Roderick turned around to look at Mike. "What?"

"A motel? Isn't this a little...low class for you?" Mike shrugged his jacket off, hanging it in the closet. Roderick rolled his eyes.

"I'm not overly fond of theatrics. That's more Joe's department, if you know what I mean." Roderick undid his boots, toeing them off.

"So what was with your Fight Club reenactment then?" Roderick looked up at Mike, who was staring at him intently. Had Mike's eyes always been that blue? Or cold, for that matter. He tried to ignore the intensity of the gaze and shrugged, appearing uncaring.

"It was what it was. We wanted to know where Claire was. You knew." He smiled, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "Of course we could have questioned you, sure. But our way was much more fun." At one point, Roderick had even found himself _cheering_ for Weston. He always did love an underdog, and Mike had performed beautifully. "I have to say, the tears were a nice touch." The noise Mike made didn't go unnoticed; it only served to make Roderick's smile grow.

"Shut up," Mike snapped. He  managed to bend down and pick up his bag, although the pained expression didn't go unnoticed. Roderick laughed, watching as Mike stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door. After a minute, the muffled sound of a shower started up.

"Really?" Roderick called. "A shower? It's one in the..." Actually, he wouldn't bother. While he may have kidnapped Mike (though he preferred to think of it as _saving Mike's sorry ass_ ), he shouldn't expect Weston to be friendly. The whole shipyard incident also might have had something to do with it.

With a sigh, he sat himself down on the bed and stretched his legs out. Now that Roderick actually let himself relax, he was starting to feel the exhaustion set in. A steady job meant a normal sleep schedule back at the mansion. In bed by 12, up at 7. A solid, uninterrupted sleep was ideal. Not driving through the back roads of Maryland at all hours of the night, stuck in a vehicle with an FBI agent who (most likely) wanted him dead.

So yeah, a nap would be nice.

After punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape, Roderick stretched out on top of the covers. He figured he could clean up in the morning before they headed out on the road. After setting the alarm on his watch, he closed his eyes. Mike could take care of himself for now.

_Roderick?_

"Roderick!"

Somebody was always calling his name. _People are stupid_ , Roderick decided as he opened his eyes. _I'm not here to solve all your goddamn problems, Weston_. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, checking his watch. One hour. One fucking hour. Further examination showed that Mike was still in the bathroom. Was he just going to sleep in there?

He was just about to go bang on the door when he heard a dull sounding thud coming from the bathroom. Roderick stood, walking over and leaning on the wall next to the door. Tapping his knuckles against it, he leaned in. "You alright?" A groan answered him, and Roderick sighed. "I'm coming in." He tried the doorknob, and found it locked. Fuck. Why did he even bother with this kid? "I can't help you if you don't let me in." Did he even want to help Weston? They were already stuck sharing a bed. Maybe he could just leave him on the floor and go to sleep.

"Unlocking the door isn't exactly high on my list of priorities right now."

"Well what d'you want me to do? Break the lock?" Stupid puppy. Stupid, useless, broken _child_. Of course Roderick had to suffer a moment of weakness. Of course he had to kidnap Mike from the hospital. Of course he had to go on the run and _of course_ Mike had to fall out of the goddamn shower.

"You're not going to kick the door down." Roderick rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers against the door. _I've had enough of this shit_. He tried to open it again, as if the door might have somehow magically unlocked itself.

"Well I can't help you otherwise, Michael. You're on your own." The noises on the other side of the door stopped. Roderick leaned a little closer, straining to hear. The next thing that registered was the sound of a muffled scream. The sound was unmistakable (he was well versed in the art of scream-inducing, after all) but Roderick wondered what exactly had caused it in the first place. After a moment, he heard a  _click_  and the doorknob turned.

Wow. The kid had actually managed to do it. After counting to thirty, Roderick turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. "I'm coming in."

Mike had managed to lift himself onto the edge of the tub. There was a towel covering his lap, but Roderick still tried not to look. He didn't really care what Weston looked like naked, but he hadn't exactly planned on finding out. He stepped over the puddles of water on the floor, crouching in front of Mike. One of Mike's hands was gripping the towel, so hard his knuckles were turning white. The other was cradling his stomach. Blood was seeping out from under the bandage; Roderick guessed Mike's little fall had ripped a stitch or two. He tugged the washcloth (clever) out from between Mike's teeth and looked at him seriously.

"How are you doing, pup?"

"I'm fine," Mike growled, teeth gritted.

"Of course you are." Roderick stood, tossing the washcloth into the tub. He patted Mike's shoulder. "Can you stand?"

"Debatable."

"You're bleeding."

"I can tell." Well this wasn't going to get them anywhere. Roderick lifted Mike's arm, fitting them together. He stood, pulling Mike up with him. Mike barely managed to hold onto his towel, his free hand grabbing desperately at Roderick's shirt. Roderick made a face as he felt nails dig into his skin, but kept silent. A strangled whimper escaped Mike's mouth before he clamped his lips shut.

"Oh good. You can stand." Roderick didn't wait for an answer, half carrying Mike out of the bathroom and over to the bed. Mike stifled another scream as Roderick lowered him onto the mattress. 

Once he was sure Mike was secured on the bed, Roderick turned. He grabbed his duffel bag out of the closet and retrieved the first aid kit he had thankfully remembered to pack.

"I don't normally let serial killers play doctor." Mike watched Roderick's movements closely, expression strained.

"If I wanted to kill you," Roderick started, bringing the first aid kit over to Mike, "I would have strangled you in that goddamn hospital bed. Take off the bandage." He left Mike to his task and went to retrieve the rest of the towels from the bathroom.

Mike grimaced, hooking his nails under the tape that held the bandage down. He wasn't eager to find out what it looked like. The bandage slowly peeled off and Mike discarded it. One finger poked curiously at the wound, immediately withdrawing when Mike realized that was probably a _bad_ idea. He didn't want to make things worse than they already were. Instead, he secured the towel more firmly across his hips, trying to preserve what was left of his dignity, and waited for Roderick to return.

"Shouldn't be too bad," Roderick said nonchalantly as he returned. He piled the towels next to Mike's head. "Just get you all cleaned up, eh?" Roderick rolled up his sleeves, completely business-like. He picked up a smaller towel and pressed it against the knife wound. "You feeling alright?"

"I'm in constant pain," Mike replied dryly. He reached up for one of the pillows, grunting out a thank you when Roderick positioned it under his head for him.

"Good." Roderick smiled, mopping up the blood. "Pain keeps you sharp. Of course..." He trailed one finger over Mike's stitches, lightly touching. Mike's stomach flexed as his muscles tensed. "...it can also be crippling if you're not careful." Roderick pressed his hand flat against Mike's stomach, looking down at him curiously. Mike stared at Roderick, not breaking his gaze. After a long moment, Roderick finally broke eye contact. He sorted through the first aid kit and picked out a roll of gauze and some tape. He quickly covered up the wound again, making sure everything was secure. 

Mike watched, occasionally making a noise when Roderick got too close to his stitches. He really had no idea why Roderick was doing this. Shouldn't he have just...finished the job? Mike had thought his time was up the moment he saw Roderick in the hospital room. Instead, they were...going on a road trip? Where were they headed anyway? Mike didn't want to trust Roderick. He _didn't_ trust Roderick. Trusting Roderick would only get him killed that much faster. Then again, shouldn't he be dead already? If Roderick really wanted to kill him...well, he'd probably be dead by now. Wouldn't he?

As Roderick finished patching him up, Mike once again met his gaze. He wondered what Roderick was thinking, but didn't want to get into too much detail. Venturing into the mind of the psychopath that had kidnapped him (twice) wasn't exactly appealing. Mike sighed as Roderick put everything away. He tried and failed to suppress a shiver. Had the room gotten colder? Maybe it was just the fact that he was still practically naked (and damp).

"There we go," Roderick said finally. He went over to Mike's bag, pulling out some pants for him. He tossed the pants onto Mike's chest, walking around to his own side of the bed. "I trust you can dress yourself." While Mike struggled with his pants, Roderick made sure to keep his back turned. He really didn't want to have any conversations about Mike's state of (un)dress this early in the morning.

When Mike finally slipped under the covers, settling himself on his back, Roderick found it safe to look at him. He shed his pants and got into the bed himself, staying as far away from Mike as possible. It probably wasn't safe to sleep around him, but he figured he'd be able to handle himself if Mike tried anything funny. "Night," he murmured, just to be polite. Mike, true to his character, ignored him.

Well. There was the end of the first day. So far so good.

***

When Roderick woke up, the room was oddly silent – apart from the alarm on his watch. Just like any other day, really. He silence the alarm and sat up, moving to grab Mike's shoulder and shake him awake. Roderick's hand landed on the mattress, and only then did he realize.

Mike wasn't in the bed. The mattress and pillow were cold when he checked. So Mike must have gotten up. Probably a nightmare or something. Damn kid. It was a little impressive that he hadn't managed to wake Roderick up, however. What was it about showing weakness? Roderick had already seen the kid at his worst. It wasn't like you could go down from there.

Roderick laughed to himself and slipped out of bed, running his fingers through his hair. He ambled over to the window, opening the curtains. The sun was coming up on the parking lot, casting a soft light over the pavement. Good day for driving. Roderick hated being on the move when the weather was bad. Too much could go wrong. As he wandered into the bathroom, he stifled a yawn. 

"Early bed tonight," Roderick said, thinking out loud. He didn't like things interfering with his sleep schedule, Weston be damned. After completing his morning routine, Roderick strolled back out into the motel room. It was still empty, and-

Wait a second.

Where the hell was Mike?

Roderick looked back in the bathroom, as if the FBI agent had magically appeared. And then the thought hit him, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Oh no. He nearly sprinted to the window, looking out at the parking lot - and the empty space where the SUV had been parked the night before.

"Where's my goddamn truck?" Roderick rushed to the door, opening it and running outside. He didn't particularly care about his state of dress (nobody would see at this hour anyway). Where was the SUV? Where the hell was Mike? "Michael?" he called, instinctively knowing that he wouldn't get an answer. Despite this, he continued walking, wandering out to his previous parking space. There was no trace of anyone ever having been there.

Weston was gone.


	3. Escape?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tables turn when Mike takes a little trip of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little while since the last update! School's really gotten stressful, but I'm hoping things will go a little smoother once I hit summer time. Thank you for all the lovely comments on chapter two and thank you for reading!

As he opened his eyes, Mike had a brief moment of forgetfulness. He thought he was still back in the hospital, waiting anxiously for Ryan – or someone – to come and get him. But when he looked at the sleeping man next to him, it all came rushing back. Roderick. The motel. Falling.

Roderick had kidnapped him from the hospital, dragged him to god-knows-where, and…fallen asleep on him? Okay, so they had both needed a break from driving. But Mike hadn’t expected to share a bed with a wanted fugitive.

Mike looked over his shoulder at Roderick. Roderick was still asleep, one arm flung over Mike's chest. He didn't exactly know what to make of that, and didn't want to stick around to find out. No, he had a plan. It was only half-formed, but Mike knew that it was his best shot. All he had to do was put it into action.

Quietly, Mike slipped out from under Roderick's arm. His teeth sunk into his lip to keep a cry of pain from escaping, and he winced when he tasted blood. Getting up was always the hardest part. Well, that and bending, lifting, walking, breathing...anything that required motion. Either way, he was up and out of bed without waking Roderick. Excellent. He prowled around the room, collecting his clothes and bag. While he dressed, Mike started thinking about what Roderick had in mind for him.

Had Roderick really just wanted to save him from all this? The cult stuff? Mike was sure that Roderick had been high up in the cult. From the way the farmhouse trio had talked about him, he seemed to be running the whole show while Joe was in prison. Why throw that all away? Then again...throwing in with Joe Carroll had to mean a complete life change. Devotion. Blindly following directions. Parker was the real expert, though. Mike was just the tech guy.

With one last glance at the sleeping Roderick, Mike tip-toed over to the closet. He dug around in Roderick's jacket and quickly retrieved the keys to the SUV. Part of him was terrified that he wouldn't make it, that Roderick would wake up, that this was all just some trick. Another part of him thought he should kill Roderick. It would be easy enough. Roderick was asleep, almost unnaturally still. He was also completely defenseless, especially if Mike took him by surprise. It would be easy enough to stab him, or strangle him...

Of course, that was foolishness. Mike could barely hold himself upright. Even breathing hurt more than he could say. Strangling Roderick would be next to impossible. And he didn't have anything to stab him with; there was no way in hell he'd shank Roderick with a pen, no matter how much torment he had been through.

With a sigh, Mike collected the duffel bag Roderick had packed for him, and left the room. As soon as he had shut the door behind him, he broke out into a run. It _hurt_ to move like that, but he didn't want to miss his chance. If this wasn't a trap, he didn't want to get caught again by being cautious. He could relax once he had gotten the hell out of there. 

Though it was still early, the vehicle felt slightly warm. Maybe it was his sprint across the parking lot. The weather was certainly cooling as far as seasons went. There was also an uncomfortable tightness in his chest that he hoped was just due to his running and nothing more serious. The fall last night had really taken it out of him. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to think too hard on it. He just had to get the hell out of there before Roderick caught him.

Mike couldn't believe he was actually on the road until he pulled out of the motel parking lot and started off down the highway. He had made it! As he watched the trees zooming past, he let out a breathless laugh. It was over. The ordeal with Roderick, his assault…he could forget about it. Maybe. Right now, he just had to get back to Quantico.

Speaking of which…where the hell were they? Mike had been asleep the whole time Roderick was driving the previous night. He had absolutely no idea which direction he should really be going in. And then, he started to regret leaving. At the very least, he should have gone to the front and asked for directions or something. But that might have wasted enough time for Roderick to wake up, and then he would have been well and truly _fucked_. It was better this way. And he had to hit _something_ eventually.

In order to combat the silence, Mike turned on the radio. He kept one eye on the road while he flicked through the stations. All he wanted was to hear some kind of news. They had to know he was missing by now. He was supposed to be discharged yesterday, supposed to go back to work…were they missing him? Was Ryan missing him?

_ Ryan doesn’t miss anybody _ , the cynical part of him said. _He doesn’t bond with people either_. They hadn’t bonded, had they? Ryan had saved his life. Ryan had protected him from the followers. Mike’s brow furrowed as he thought, absentmindedly searching for a news station. All he heard was static, until –

“–believed to be driving a black SUV, license plate beginning A17. Citizens should be wary of the suspect as he is armed and extremely dangerous. Anyone with information can phone the toll-free hotline…” That had to be it. That was their vehicle, the license plate. Somebody was looking for him!

Mike silently repeated the number to himself. He needed a phone. He could call Ryan and get this figured out. He’d be safe. But as he kept driving, doubt started to creep in. This, combined with his already-peaked paranoia, sparked a train of thought that was impossible to derail.

_Of course you're running back to Ryan. Daddy's going to make it all better, isn't he? This whole mess is your fault. You could barely defend yourself against the followers in the shipyard._ You had him _. You_ had _him and you just ran away again like you've been running from all your problems. What the hell is wrong with you? Get back there, arrest the stupid bastard, and be done with it_.

The reasonable part of Mike knew that it would be perfectly fine to just...drive away. He could get the hell out of Dodge, find Ryan, and figure out this whole mess with some help. But the cynical part of Mike knew that would never be an option. The rest of the agents he worked with already looked at him like he was some dumb kid fresh out of school, barely able to live up to the badge he carried. He was the baby of the Bureau. Letting a known suspect get away would just solidify that fact. _Look at poor Agent Weston. He let himself get kidnapped twice and he let Roderick just_ walk away _. Maybe we should give him his training wheels back_.

Fuck that. He wasn't a kid anymore. Mike was going to get the hell back to the motel and arrest Roderick himself. Nobody was going to take this victory from him.

***

Fuck Weston.

Fuck him, fuck the cult, fuck the whole goddamn _world_. Roderick was sick of it. He probably would have started yelling were it not for the fact that he was standing in the middle of a parking lot in his underwear. Besides, he didn’t have _tantrums_ just because things didn’t go his way. He wasn’t a goddamn kid.

He’d been _outsmarted_ by a goddamn kid.

Roderick closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. It didn’t help to calm the rage building inside of him. When he found Mike, he was going to fucking _murder_ him. _I was just trying to help you_ , he thought angrily, despite the fact that he knew Mike couldn’t hear him. _And this is how you repay me? After everything I did_? Of course he knew getting angry wouldn’t help. Neither would finding someone else to beat up. But it would sure as hell make him feel better.

Roderick looked at the empty spot once more, trying to formulate some kind of plan. Mike had ruined everything. And once he got the kid back (if he got him back), Roderick knew he’d have to be even more careful. With a sigh, he crouched and pressed his hand against the pavement. Though the sun was warming the ground, it was still cool where the car had been sitting. So Mike hadn’t been gone for long. He must have just missed him.

Somehow that thought just made it worse.

As he turned around to go back inside, Roderick caught sight of a kid sitting on the bench next to the building. She was staring at him intently, brown eyes wide. Roderick felt a weird mixture of confusion and embarrassment, and quickly shoved his emotions aside before things got even worse than they already were.

“What the fuck are you looking at,” he growled, stalking back into the motel room. Roderick slammed the door behind him, angrily kicking at the chair near the door. That only caused him to stub his toe, and he swore loudly.

Who would have thought the kid could get him so rattled?

No, it wasn’t Weston. Roderick just hated when things didn’t go his way. He had been starting to notice it with Joe. Ever since Joe had gotten his ex-wife and his rugrat back, he’d completely ignored his real job. He’d thrown their plans aside in favour of a family that had rejected him time and time again. He’d started _ruining everything_ , and there was no way Roderick was just going to watch while his whole life crumbled around him. So he’d gotten the hell out while he could.

Screw him for getting attached. Mike had made an impression with their little game, and Roderick had thought he could make something of it. They were similar, him and Weston. Both following blindly after their chosen mentors. Joe had made him into Roderick, had groomed him to take control when Joe went to prison. Though he didn’t know all the ins and outs of Weston and Hardy’s relationship, Roderick knew that it could have almost mirrored what he had with Joe.

There had been a time when he would have died for Joe.

Mike had almost died protecting the whereabouts of Claire Matthews, Ryan’s little conquest. There was no doubt in Roderick’s mind that Mike had been doing it because he wanted Claire to be safe. No, he was protecting Claire because Ryan loved her. Simple as that.

Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

As he got dressed and packed up his things, Roderick pondered the situation. If he did manage to find Mike again, he’d have to do some serious work. It wouldn’t be easy to make sure the kid didn’t run off again. He figured he might even have to pull some _Misery_ -style shit, which excited him more than it should have. Roderick envisioned Mike tied up, completely under his control. Those big blue eyes filled with fear – or admiration. Hearing that rough voice _beg_ for him. Making sure Mike couldn’t live without him.

Yeah, maybe he had gotten a little attached.

Roderick slipped his jacket on, did a final sweep of the room to ensure he wasn’t leaving anything behind, and exited. He walked parallel to the building, once again passing the little kid. She watched him go, and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying anything to her. He dropped off the room key, completely ignoring the greeting from the girl at the front desk, and exited again.

Shit, what was he going to do about a car? It would be easy enough to steal one (in broad daylight? What the hell is wrong with you?) but he still didn’t know how he’d find Weston. All of his plans had banked on the kid following him around like the puppy he was. But now Mike had disappeared, Roderick had cut all ties with the cult, and he was...completely alone. Stranded without even a cell phone in the middle of nowhere. He couldn't even call for help.

"You're pathetic," he told himself. "Why did you think this would actually work?" Roderick was ready to give up. It was barely 8 a.m. on the second day, and already he had managed to lose the guy he was trying to save. With a sigh, he tossed the duffel bag down on the sidewalk and sat next to it, putting his head in his hands. _Pathetic_.

After almost a full minute of indulgent self-pity, Roderick heard the sound of tires. Despite his pessimism ( _it's not Weston, dumbass_ ), he looked up. Though he prided himself on being hard to startle, Roderick felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach when he saw exactly who was pulling up in the parking lot.

What the _hell_?

Roderick stared at the vehicle, his expression a mixture of confusion and (though he'd never admit to it) the slightest hint of fear. Was that Mike, or someone else entirely? He suddenly wished he had cooked up some kind of insurance policy against the FBI. His only protection had been Mike, and even that was gone now.

But then the SUV stopped and a scruffy blonde guy climbed out, though it looked like it took some effort to actually leave the vehicle (which brought a smile to Roderick's face). He was stupid enough to feel hopeful for a split second before he realized what Mike was holding. It wasn't easy to see, but Roderick would know the look of his favourite firearm anywhere.

What? He had been a Boy Scout for years as a kid. _Always be prepared_. And in this case, prepared meant keeping a spare gun in the glove compartment. Had Weston managed to pick the lock? Impressive.

"Hey, buddy," Roderick said casually, standing and shoving his hands in his pockets. His eyes flicked down to the gun before meeting Mike's stony gaze. "Long time no see."

"Get in the car." O- _kay_. Clearly somebody hadn't had his morning coffee. Actually, Weston looked downright pissed. Roderick guessed the few moments of _cuddly-fun-time_ Mike were over. He turned his head as Mike walked around him and picked up the bag sitting on the pavement.

"What, no hello? For the record, I don't put out on the first date-"

"I said, _get in the fucking car_." Roderick felt the barrel of the gun press into his back. Though he knew he could probably overpower Mike, he still wasn't bulletproof. There was enough risk of getting shot that he didn't protest. Mike shoved Roderick over to the car, forcing him into the driver's seat. Roderick meekly obeyed, buckling his seatbelt while Mike walked around the SUV to the passenger side. Mike got into the vehicle, pointing the gun at Roderick.

"You're taking me back to Quantico." He threw the keys over, and Roderick caught them one-handed.

"And why would I do that?" Okay, being an ass to the guy with the gun was probably a bad idea. But Roderick couldn't help a dig at Mike every now and then.

"Because if you don't, I'll shoot you." Silly Mike. Didn't he know the first thing about hostages? Roderick figured he could stand to use a few pointers. However, he recognized that they might not be appreciated to their fullest extent, which really was a shame. He was a goddamn genius after all.

"You're not going to shoot me." Roderick started the car and put it in gear, pulling out of the parking lot. "If you wanted me dead, you would have just flattened me and ruined this lovely vehicle." He grinned crookedly and looked over at Mike. Before he could react, Mike flipped the gun around and swung. The butt of the gun caught Roderick on the temple. He let out a cry of pain and the SUV swerved dangerously before he righted it. _Seriously, Mike?_ Roderick thought, half impressed that the kid had the balls to hit him. The headache that was already brewing spoke differently, of course.

" _What the hell is wrong with you_?" he demanded, not really expecting an answer.

"I'm not fucking around!"

"You could have killed us both!" Roderick looked over at Mike, making sure there wasn't anyone driving towards them. Wouldn't want to nearly face death and then _actually_ die because he wasn't paying attention. He had planned on making it out of this clusterfuck alive and in one (devastatingly handsome) piece.

"We're not going to _crash_." Mike glowered at Roderick, jaw firmly set. Roderick resisted the impulse to roll his eyes.

"I'm sure that's what ninety percent of people say right before they do something stupid and crash." There was probably a statistic. "You know, for a federal agent you're being really, _really stupid_."

"Shut up and drive, _Roderick_. You'll have all the time in the world to make stupid jokes when your ass is rotting in prison for the rest of your life." Roderick shrugged, looking back at the road. This wasn't exactly the way he had envisioned their little road trip panning out, but figured he could make the best of things. At the very least, he knew with a certainty that there was no way in hell they were going back to Quantico. But Mike didn't have to know that.

"At least put your seatbelt on." Roderick gestured, looking over at Mike. "They save lives."

"I said _shut up_."


	4. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Debra discuss the case, and Ryan gets a phone call.

Ryan had been staring at the pages in front of him for so long that the text had melted into a white-black blur. It had only been a day since Mike's disappearance, but the first forty-eight hours were crucial. If they didn't find any evidence soon, they might never get him back alive. Was this just a plot to get to him? Kidnap someone he cared about? Ryan wasn't sure. Part of him didn't want to find out.

A cup of coffee entered the corner of his vision, and Ryan blinked. He set down the sheaf of papers and rubbed his eyes, groaning. It had been almost nonstop working since they found out about Mike's kidnapping, and the stress was starting to get to him. Worse yet, his emergency flask was nearly empty.

"You should get some sleep," Debra said, pushing the coffee towards Ryan. Ryan sighed and wrapped one hand around the mug. "Seriously. If you keep pushing yourself until you snap, you're never going to get anything done."

"And how much sleep have _you_ gotten?" Ryan asked, almost accusingly.

"That's not the point. Let some fresh eyes take over. You don't want to hurt yourself." Ryan huffed and waved her comment away. He downed half his coffee, though he figured the caffeine wouldn't do much for his already overworked system. "At least let me help you. I want to find him just as much as you do." There was a bit of an unspoken rule between them. They had both been through hardship. Mike was relatively unscathed. They were supposed to protect him.

But now he was missing, a mere four days after he had been kidnapped and nearly killed. Ryan knew they were both shouldering the blame even though there was really nothing they could have done to prevent it. Who would have thought that someone would kidnap Mike? The followers had already tried to get information out of him, to no avail. What purpose would kidnapping him serve? Besides trying to find clues, figuring that out was Ryan's main focus. How did this fit into Joe's plan? Was it even a part of Joe's plan? They might never know.

Either way, he knew they had to find Mike before it was too late.

"Have you gotten anything back from the hospital?" Debra nodded, pulling out the folder she had previously tucked under her arm. Ryan watched as she extracted a paper and handed it over. He studied it curiously. It was a standard composite sketch, nothing special. Was that their suspect?

"We had a sketch artist sit down with Weston's doctor and the nurse who oversaw his release. That's the description of the man who took him. He signed in under an alias, used a fake ID. We haven't gotten anywhere with it yet." From the way she spoke, Ryan knew that there was something Debra hadn't been telling him.

"Don't hold out on me, Agent Parker. What else have you got?" Debra sighed and pulled out another paper with another sketch on it. 

"That's the description Mike gave of the follower they call Roderick. White, mid to late twenties, blonde hair, blue eyes. Perfectly average." Ryan studied the second sketch before looking back at the first. He set them down on the desk, side by side.

"It's the same person." There were a few minor differences between the sketches, but eyewitness accounts were notoriously unreliable. There was enough similarity to make a guess, and it all seemed to _fit_. Of course, that just made the situation ten times worse. Any off-their-rocker cult member could have taken Mike, but when it was Joe's second in command. Things had to be serious.

Mike was probably in Joe's custody already. And who knew what Joe would put Mike through?

"We're looking into it, but so far we've got nothing. Roderick is an alias, obviously."

" _The Fall of the House of Usher_. Not one of Joe's favourites." Ryan hated that he knew that. He hated the whole goddamn situation. The cult could be torturing Mike right now and they had no idea of knowing if he was even okay or not.

Unless Joe phoned him.

Ryan took his cell phone out of his pocket and set it on the desk, staring at it almost wistfully. If he was going to call, he would have done it by now, wouldn't he? Debra sighed, shaking her head. She had always been more practical.

"He's going to want to gloat about this, isn't he? Kidnapping Mike. He's going to want me to know that he has him. That he's...hurting him because of me." Ryan could almost hear Mike screaming, begging. "It's all just material for his book." The fucking book. People had died because Joe wanted to write _a book_. And now Mike was almost certainly being tortured. It was all his fault.

"Are you prepared for what might happen if he does call?" Debra looked at him seriously. They both knew that they might hear what was happening to Mike. There was a very real chance that this might be the last time they ever heard Mike. There were too many ifs and not enough facts and Ryan hated every second of it.

"No." He was never prepared. That was why he drank so much and spent all his time alone so he didn't have to watch any more of his loved ones die. Ryan slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out the flask. Debra raised an eyebrow as Ryan emptied the flask into his coffee, but the look he gave her silenced any comment she might have made.

"I didn't see anything." Ryan finished off his coffee, feeling only marginally better. He was probably going to die at this rate, but couldn't have cared less. At least his death would ruin Joe's book. With a sigh, he pushed the mug out of the way and organized the papers into slightly neater piles.

"I need a break. I'll come get you if anything happens." If his phone rang. Debra watched him for a moment before touching his shoulder.

"Get some rest. I'll see how the search is coming along." With that, she was gone. Ryan stood up, stretching his arms. He winced as he heard a few pops; he had to stop spending so much time hunched over a desk. When was the last time he'd actually gone for a walk? Or eaten? Slept? Ryan picked up his phone and wandered over to the couch in the corner of the room. He slipped out of his jacket and folded it up, using it as a makeshift pillow. As soon as he lay down, he felt all the exhaustion sink in. Mike had been missing for a full day. Time was running out. He really shouldn't be sleeping. But the excitement of the past day had taken a lot out of him. He'd make more progress when he woke up. Yeah, that was it.

***

A loud ringing snapped Ryan out of a dead sleep. He sat bolt upright, searching around for his phone. Where had it gone? Who the hell was calling him? A quick search found his phone on the floor. Ryan grabbed it and answered the call, heart already racing.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Ryan."

"Joe." _Joe_.

"And how are we today?" Ryan could practically hear the smirk. Joe was enjoying this, wasn't he? He wanted to torture Ryan, wanted to drag this out as long as possible.

"Cut the crap, Joe. I know you have him." There was a pause, long enough to make Ryan worry. Dropped signal? He stood and practically sprinted down the hallway, immediately finding Debra and signalling to her. Debra in turn alerted Agent Mitchell.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Ryan. Have you lost someone else?" Ryan shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. The headache that was brewing didn't help his mood either.

"Your little buddy Roderick kidnapped Agent Weston from the hospital yesterday. Don't lie and pretend this wasn't part of your little plan. Mike's not a plot point, okay? Just let him go, and I'll do whatever you want." Ryan was used to offering himself up in place of victims, and he was used to hearing the same answer over and over again. People were stupidly predictable. But this time, the answer was different.

"Well, Ryan, our dear friend Roderick disappeared two days ago without any warning whatsoever. Rather rude, isn't he? No respect for anyone but himself, though I tried to cure him of that bad habit. I suppose it's to be expected when you let someone run around with free reign for almost a decade. They're going to get greedy, and-"

"Shut up, Joe." The shocked silence was almost refreshing, but Ryan wasn't smiling.

"You're lying to me." Ryan caught Debra's shocked look, feeling his own heart sink into his stomach in response. If Joe didn't have Mike, then what the hell was really going on?

"No, no, you've got it all wrong, Ryan. You're our protagonist. I would never lie to you. That would disturb the narrative. I'm afraid you're going to have to look elsewhere for our dear friend Agent Weston. He isn't with us, and neither is Roderick." Ryan immediately hung up the phone, throwing it carelessly onto the desk. If Joe didn't have Mike, then talking to him was a complete waste of time. Why bother when it wouldn't get him anywhere? But that begged the real question, what _would_ get him somewhere? Who the hell did he have to question in order to find Mike?

"Well that's something," Debra said thoughtfully. Ryan pressed his fingers against his temples, sighing heavily. All of his guesses had hinged on Joe being behind Mike's kidnapping. "If Roderick's acting of his own free will..."

"Something happened between him and Joe. Something to make them split up."

"A normal kidnapper would have made a ransom demand by now." Debra looked at Ryan, crossing her arms. "We have to be prepared for the fact that Roderick might not want anything from us." That thought struck Ryan, and he looked over at her curiously. They were the FBI. They had the power to make Roderick's life a living hell once they found him. Why would he ruin his chances by refusing to cooperate? "He may just...want Mike." For whatever reason. None of them wanted to elaborate on what those reasons might be.

Still, the phone call hadn't completely gone to waste. They knew Roderick wasn't acting on Joe's commands. And if he had strayed so far from the plan, he had to be working on his own. That would mean a blow to the cult, if what they knew about Roderick so far could be believed. Ryan just had to hope, though he didn't have a lot of it these days. Still, the idea of Roderick using Mike as a chew toy of sorts was enough to make Ryan feel sick. Hadn't the kid already been through enough? But they'd work things out. They'd save Mike.

They just had to get him back before Roderick got tired of him.


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roderick gives in and reveals the plan - kind of.

For a long time, the drive was silent. Roderick had attempted to turn on the radio somewhere around the third mile, but Mike growled as soon as his hand left the steering wheel. As he didn't want to chance getting shot (or having his head bitten off) Roderick left things as they were. The awkward silence didn't do much to make him feel more comfortable, but at least it gave him a chance to think. He needed to come up with some kind of plan. For starters, he'd have to be a hell of a lot more careful about sleeping around Mike. The kid's little escape plan clearly hadn't gone exactly how he'd wanted it. Maybe Roderick could use that to his advantage.

"You know..." he started. The look Mike gave him could have curdled milk. Okay, maybe talking was a bad idea. Roderick quickly backtracked, taking another route. "We're going to be stuck here for a while, is all. You could stand to lighten up a little."

"I'm not falling for any of your tricks," Mike growled. Well. Roderick figured he couldn't really argue with that. He ignored the glare long enough to turn on the radio, catching the beginning of the news. Roderick listened curiously as the newscaster rattled off a list of stats pertaining to Mike's disappearance. He was surprised to find that they knew so much about him, too. Of course, it was nothing solid. Not his real name or where he lived or the fact that he had a scar on the underside of his left bicep (but who the hell would know that anyway). It was unfortunate that they'd found out the licence plate numbers – Roderick figured the nurse from the hospital had spilled the beans there – but he had been planning on ditching the vehicle the first chance he got anyway. If he ever managed to get to his little safe house. The news segued into some terrible-sounding pop song that somehow managed to make the silence even more pointed. Roderick tried to keep his thoughts to himself.

Once they made it to the main highway things got a little trickier. Roderick could only pretend to take the wrong exit so many times. Thankfully Mike didn't say anything when Roderick pointed the vehicle _away_ from Quantico and kept driving. The atmosphere in the vehicle was relatively peaceful, which he was thankful for. However, it was only a matter of time before they neared a helpful sign that announced they were almost in Pennsylvania.

Mike's heart immediately leapt into his throat. Roderick really was trying to kidnap him. They weren't going back to the Bureau. They weren't even going anywhere near it. "This isn't the right way." Mike looked around, eyes widening. He felt a pang of fear in his stomach and immediately swallowed it down. He couldn't afford to be afraid right now. "Where the hell are you driving?"

"Somewhere safe." Roderick didn't look at Mike, pressing a little harder on the gas pedal. If Mike tried to kill him, at least they'd have a better chance of dying in a crash as opposed to suffering some kind of mortal wound. He just didn't want to be kept alive artificially on the off chance that he survived this thing. That was no way to live. "Can you put the goddamn gun down? You're making me nervous."

"I told you to take me back to Quantico!"

"We can't go back there, Mike." No, he had to keep driving. They had to get to safety, away from all the craziness that awaited them were they to return to Quantico. This was not the way he wanted things to turn out. Not at all. This was the exact opposite of what he wanted, in fact. Why did Mike have to be such an idiot? Why couldn't he just shut his mouth and _listen_?

Mike stared at Roderick, grip tightening on the gun. He could always shoot him. It would be easy. Roderick would be dead, and Mike could get home without worrying so much. But it would completely defeat the purpose. He had gone back for Roderick in order to arrest him, not murder him. If he killed Roderick now, the whole detour would have been a complete waste. He couldn't kill Roderick. He had to get him back to the Bureau so Ryan could deal with him.

“Pull over.” Roderick blinked, looking over at Mike. Stop the car? _Really_?

“I thought you–”

“Quit being an idiot and pull over.” Mike looked tired, almost. But they couldn’t just stop in the middle of the highway. That’s how cops found you. Still, Roderick sighed and did as he was told. For good measure he shut the car off completely, yanking out the keys and resting his hands in his lap. What the hell was Mike playing at? _What do you want from me?_

“Let’s be completely honest here, I don’t even kiss on the first date, pup.”

“Please shut up.” That was enough to give Roderick pause. He was actually getting some manners out of the kid now? "Get out of the car."

Okay, _what_?

"You can't be–"

" _Get out of the fucking car_!" Roderick immediately put his hands up, flinching. He'd been yelled at one too many times to know that tone. He also knew that if Mike decided to start hitting, he wouldn't go down without a fight. People didn't get to touch him. Not anymore. Roderick slowly climbed out of the SUV, shoving the keys in his jacket pocket. He walked around to the passenger side, figuring (correctly, as one might have it) that Mike wanted to see him there.

Mike threw open the door of the SUV, and Roderick stepped back to avoid getting hit by it. He watched warily as Mike climbed out, not failing to notice the way Weston moved. God, he still had to be sore. The knife had gone pretty deep after all. This alone must be killing him. 

"There are better ways to do this, you know." Mike slammed the door shut and pointed the gun at Roderick. He held it like they'd both been taught, both hands on the grip, one finger poised on the trigger, feet apart for better balance. "You're not going to shoot me."

"I want answers," Mike said. "Why did you kidnap me? Why drag me all the way out here? _Why_? Why me? Why any of this?” Well, _fuck_. Roderick had hoped they wouldn’t get to that question until they were in the safe house. At the very least. Ideally, Mike would have just come along without a peep, being as adorably obedient as he was with Ryan. But you had to train a puppy before you could run with it, and Roderick had been unfortunately lax in that department. He blamed it on some sick need to have Mike  _want_ all of this. Roderick had been unwillingly forced into plans before. The whole clusterfuck that was Joe’s cult was proof of that.

But he had to get to some real reasons, didn’t he? Otherwise Mike would start shooting.

“I had to.”

Mike laughed.

There was a long enough pause that Roderick started to get worried, but then the kid lowered the gun and began _laughing_ and fuck it if that wasn’t the most terrifying response. Roderick stared at Mike, tensing slightly. Okay, if Weston had really gone off his rocker, there was only one thing left to do. At the first sign of danger he was bailing. No more cult, no more Mike, none of this. He was going to spend the rest of his life in a sunny place where nobody bothered him ever again and he never had to wear a snowsuit.

“You had to? You h–” Mike broke off and shook his head. He didn't bring the gun back up, which Roderick was thankful for. “So you _had_ to kidnap me too, huh? You _had_ to tie me up and shove me in a van and drag me out into the middle of _nowhere_ , and you had to stand around and watch that _freak_ beat the _shit_ out of me.”

“Charlie was a good man,” Roderick protested quietly. He missed him, as much as he could miss anyone. Mike didn’t slow down, however.

“I don’t _care_ what you think about him. You would have killed me if it suited you. If I didn't agree to play your little game." It had been a pretty good game. Better than most. Weston was a good player. Too good, as it turned out. From what he could gather, Mike had known where Claire was the whole time. But he didn't give it up, and that kind of determination was admirable.

Never mind the fact that they were stopped in the middle of the highway yelling at each other ( _no, officer, we're just trying to get directions, honest_ ) and Mike was holding a loaded gun. Roderick was well aware of the fact that he was probably going to get shot before they ever made it to the safe house. Mike would shoot him and leave him on the side of the road. Yeah, that would be a _great_ death.

"We wouldn't have killed you," Roderick replied evenly. "Louise was all for it, but she was never quite right." He tapped a finger against his head, smiling knowingly. "They all said there's beauty in death. But it's better to leave a few examples along the way, don't you think?" Mike would have been a shining example. They could hurt, but they could also be benevolent. It was sheer luck that Louise hadn't cut Mike's throat, honestly, but Roderick was glad she didn't.

"You're disgusting." Mike said it so plainly, but Roderick could tell that Mike believed it wholeheartedly. What he didn't expect was for the statement to hurt that deeply. _Disgusting_. He'd heard that one before. From girls he'd tried to fuck. From boys. From his mother. From a thousand other people, a crowd of sheep that only saw what he did. What he was capable of. Until Joe. Joe had seen Roderick for who he really was, had taken that shy little bookworm and turned him into someone dangerous. Someone who wouldn't be trifled with. But then Mike came along and tore down all the walls he had spent years carefully building up. 

Fuck Weston.

Nobody else made him feel like that. What exactly _that_ was, Roderick couldn't tell. He decided the best course of action was to ignore Mike's comment and try to steer the conversation back to somewhere that was slightly more agreeable.

“I couldn’t let you die.” Roderick threw his arms out to the side, gesturing helplessly. “Don’t ask me to explain it because I have no idea how the hell it happened.” How was he supposed to reconcile himself with this...this stupid attachment? As much as he tried to resist it, picturing Weston dead was enough to make him feel like a lead weight had settled in his stomach. "I saved your life. You should be grateful."

“I don’t need _saving_ ,” Mike hissed.

“But you do! You think we’re going to make it out of this alive? Just like I said in the hospital, Mikey. We’re not the important ones. It doesn’t matter if we live or die, and frankly, it’s a hell of a lot easier for Joe if we’re both out of the way. Gives him more time to focus on his big damn _hero_.” Fuck Ryan Hardy. Fuck everything.

“You don’t know we’re going to die.”

“I do,” Roderick insisted. Why didn’t Mike _understand_?

“But you don’t! I’m not letting any more of you bastards even _touch_ me and I’m sure as hell not dying because of your little cult–”

“I saw the end of the book!” Okay, he hadn’t meant to raise his voice that much. But it managed to shut Mike up so he could get a word in edgewise – Roderick took what he could get.

“What do you mean?” Mike sounded oddly subdued. Almost worried, definitely curious. Roderick sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He took a deep breath, eyeing the gun. It was dangling loosely by Mike’s side, almost forgotten in the midst of their shouting match. Maybe he could make a grab for it. Or not. It was time to come clean. It might make things easier, at least.

“I saw the end of Joe’s book. You know, the whole fucking reason we’re in this mess. He wants a sequel to Winslow.” It had been mostly an accident, but Roderick couldn’t help his curiosity. Why had he ever thought siding with Joe was a good idea? He could have just been a sheriff (a real one) or maybe gone into politics like his mom... “I didn’t even know he had it all written. But I saw the ending.” Mike’s eyes were narrowed, and he looked like he had about a million questions. Roderick knew he did, too. “You die in the final chapter, Mike. You’re not supposed to make it out of this alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, updating regularly feels pretty dang good and I'm glad to see everyone enjoying the story so far! Let me know what you think :)


	6. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Roderick (finally) reach an agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter was a beast to finish (both in terms of length and content). Thanks for sticking with me! Let me know what you think and I'll try to have an update finished soon :)

_ You're not supposed to make it out of this alive _ .

Mike had known his days were numbered. He was more likely to get murdered by some psychopath with a knife in his line of work. But to hear it so plainly like that, to have things laid out for him...it was enough to make him think. And then he started getting uncomfortable. What else did Joe have planned? Obviously the Fight Club reenactment hadn't gone according to plan, but what if Joe really did want him dead? Collateral damage. He couldn't be that important to the plot.

"It's not for you, believe me," Roderick said plainly. Mike's head snapped up and he met Roderick's gaze. Right. Roderick had a plan too. A plan to save him? That didn't make sense. "It's for Ryan. He's supposed to be alone. And having you at his heels just complicates things."

"It's all about Ryan?"

"Have you been paying attention at all? This whole show is for Ryan Hardy. And how do you think your big damn hero is going to react when he finds out his pup is dead? It's supposed to be the final straw, or something. The death of poor little puppy Mike, the kid Ryan couldn't save. That's his breaking point." Roderick waved his hand, shrugging. "I don't get it, honestly. We all know how well Hardy plays with others." So there was something Roderick didn't know. They weren't exactly friends, but Mike knew that Ryan respected him. They had some kind of...bond, for lack of a better word. He'd saved Ryan's life, and then Ryan had saved his. That meant something.

"Yeah," Mike said, voice tight. Roderick couldn't know. Mike wasn't dead yet, but that didn't mean he could trust Roderick. "I don't mean anything to him. Nobody does."

"Well there's always Claire Matthews." Roderick shrugged, glancing around. "Can we get back in the car? You're just asking for the cops to pull over and ask us what's wrong. We're wanted fugitives, remember?" Mike remembered. The news report had been pretty specific, after all.

" _You're_ wanted for kidnapping. I'm just wanted." Hopefully he'd be able to get back home in one piece. Speaking of which... "You take me back to Quantico, or I'll call the cops myself." Mike didn't fail to notice the way Roderick visibly deflated. Was he really that hell bent on this little escape plan?

"You and what phone," Roderick muttered, jaw firmly set. He was tired of Mike trying to order him around. People didn't _tell_ him what to do, no matter what kind of weapons they were holding.

Mike sighed, glancing down at the gun he was holding. Roderick did have a point. And Mike really didn't have any idea where they were, apart from the road sign they had passed a few yards back. Even then, it wasn't specific enough for him to gauge their location. He needed Roderick, whether he liked it or not. "You drive me to the nearest gas station, then. Rest stop. Somewhere with a phone."

"No." Okay, new tactic. Mike lifted the gun, making sure the safety was off. He pointed it squarely at Roderick's chest, one finger on the trigger.

"You take me back, or else I'll shoot you."

"If you shoot me, how can I drive the car?" Mike's eyes narrowed. Roderick was worse than his brothers. Mike had lost plenty of arguments, but eventually things would even out. With Roderick, there was no middle ground and Mike had no idea what to think when it came to him.

"You only need one leg to drive." He pointed the gun at Roderick's feet, firing a bullet into the ground in front of him. Roderick jumped back, eyes going wide. Mike braced himself for some kind of witty retort. Instead, however, Roderick stayed silent. Mike kept the gun aimed, just in case. After a minute of deliberation, Roderick started walking towards Mike. He held his hands up, trying to look non-threatening. How long had it been since he'd had to actually convince someone to listen to him?

"Please, Mike."

Mike paused, mouth half open. Did Roderick just say _please_? He sounded like he was...actually pleading. Not begging (Mike suspected he was too proud for that) but something close to it. That conflicted with everything he had taught himself about Roderick. Roderick was supposed to be dangerous. He watched people kill each other and he laughed at it. He sat back and watched Mike get beaten and even _stabbed_ and he didn't bat an eyelid. But now he was actually asking for things? Using _manners_? Serial killers didn't ask unless they were mocking you. They just took what they wanted. Roderick had nearly killed Mike because Mike didn't tell him where Claire Matthews was. Not to mention the fact that Roderick had actually used his first name, not some weird perversion of it.

"Look, I'm sure we can work out some kind of truce. I'm not trying to kill you. You believe that, right?" Mike didn't know what to believe. Roderick was actually trying to make peace.

"You were going to kill me when I didn't tell you where Claire Matthews was. You were going to let your little girlfriend murder me."

"Do you even listen to me at all? She wasn't going to kill you. We hadn't planned on it. They could have used a guy like you. Someone with an in to the cult." Why was he still running his mouth? There was no way this was going to facilitate any kind of trust. _You need him_ , Roderick reminded himself. Mike wasn't just a companion. He was insurance. As long as he had Mike, he was safe. If Mike got away, if Mike decided not to trust him, well things were that much more dangerous. Roderick didn't want to have to start drugging Mike or tying him up. Make no mistake, he would if he had to. But he much preferred everything to be consensual. It was easier that way, and he needed a break right now.

"So you were going to...what, turn me?"

"Well it sounds worse when you say it like that." Roderick looked around warily, running his fingers through his hair. "Can we get back in the car?" He took a deep breath. "...please?" _Please_ again. Mike didn't trust Roderick, but it was nice to hear something that wasn't an insult or a threat to his personal safety. He thought about Roderick's plea for a long time. Roderick (apparently) didn't want to kill him. They both wanted to be done with the cult business. They had more in common than Mike had originally thought.

"Don't think this is me trusting you. Because I don't." Mike gestured at the vehicle with the gun. Roderick held up his hands again, quirking one corner of his lips up into a smile. "Get in the car." He waited until Roderick was once again seated in the driver's seat before getting in himself. _Okay_ , he thought, _one thing at a time_. They were far enough away from home that he could still make a decision on where they were headed. Were they going back to Quantico? Was he going to go along with Roderick's little plan? "Drive," Mike ordered.

Right now, all he really wanted was some food. It had been...how long since he'd eaten? At least a day. Mike didn't know how he hadn't passed out yet. Then again, he was used to long days. Pushing himself was something he was well accustomed to.

"We should get something to eat," he said roughly. Roderick barely gave him a glance, nodding quickly as he started up the SUV.

"Finally you have a good idea." Mike decided to ignore the jibe and poked at the radio, searching around for a news station. There was nothing but local radio on the air, unfortunately, so he settled for hoping they'd get a news broadcast soon. After sitting through three godawful pop songs, the DJ finally took over. Mike looked at Roderick again, gauging his reactions. So far, the walls were up.

Roderick tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, listening to the news drone on. There was something about a community bake sale, but past that he tuned out the voice. When it didn't concern him, local news was incredibly uninteresting. He would have rather just sat in silence, if he was being honest.

" _In other news, there has been a new development in the Weston case_." At that, he glanced over at Mike. They had named it now? Shit. " _Citizens are asked to be on the lookout for Timothy Warren Nelson, travelling under the alias Roderick_." The sound of his full name had barely faded from the vehicle, but Roderick couldn't silence the radio fast enough. He hoped to God that Mike wasn't actually paying attention, although even that was a long shot. Maybe he wouldn't mention it. It was obvious enough that Roderick wasn't his real name, but it was the name he'd gone by for almost a decade. It was the name he _preferred_. Tim was a scared little boy who couldn't stand up for himself. Roderick was _powerful_.

"Your real name is Tim?" Ah, shit. Roderick squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, willing himself to remain calm.

"I don't want to talk about it," he replied, voice tight. When he finally did look over at Mike, he caught just a hint of a smirk. _You can't hit him. You're trying to drive the car and you can't hit him. You need him to trust you_. Roderick repeated the phrase in his head like a mantra. So long as Mike didn't start calling him Timmy. There would definitely be blood if it got that far.

After an awkward silence that lasted far too long, during which Mike and Roderick spent their time pointedly _not_ looking at each other, a town finally came into view. Mike shifted in his seat, feeling a sense of relief. He tapped his fingers against his knee and sucked his lower lip into his mouth. It was going to be a long drive back home and he didn't want to wait another day to eat. His stomach was already protesting and his head was starting to pound. All the stress of the day was finally catching up with him.

“I would kill someone for a hamburger,” he said, mostly to himself. Roderick turned to look at him, laughing dryly. Never mind the fact that the idea of Mike murdering someone put all sorts of nasty thoughts in his mind. _Focus, Roderick_.

“Looks like you’re in luck, pup.” Roderick pointed; up ahead a neon sign advertised a fast food restaurant. Mike smiled before he could stop himself. _Finally_ , he thought. He was starving. Roderick pulled up, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Unsurprisingly, he opted for the drive through as opposed to actually going in to the restaurant. Mike obediently kept silent as Roderick ordered for them, watching him carefully. Well, if nobody had heard the news they were probably safe…

Once Roderick had paid and they got their food, Mike sighed happily. Still, there was something else he had to take care of. “Park,” he ordered. Roderick did so, eyeing him suspiciously. Mike opened the door and Roderick reacted without thinking. One hand snapped out and he grabbed a fistful of Mike’s jacket. 

“Where the hell are you going?” Slowly, Mike shut the door. Roderick’s grip relaxed, but his hand hovered near Mike’s shoulder.

“We’ve been driving for the last six hours, _Tim_. Where the hell do you _think_ I’m going?”

Oh.

"Don't try anything funny," Roderick warned. Part of him seethed at the mention of his old name. How had the FBI found him out so quickly? Tim Nelson had died years ago, as far as he was concerned. But records could go back a long time, and if they knew who his parents were… Roderick shook his head. He didn't want to have to kill anyone, but he would if he had to – especially if Mike tried to get hold of the police. Mike rolled his eyes, throwing open the door of the SUV.

"I'm going to the bathroom, not the Pentagon. Either way, you're still a nationally wanted fugitive." Roderick barely had time to process that thought before Mike slammed the door and walked into the building. Had they actually escalated to joking with each other? That was a weird thought. Not to say that it was unwanted. No, it was just...strange to think about. They'd only known each other for a short time, and in that time Roderick had kidnapped Mike twice and nearly watched him die. And now Mike was making jokes around him.

Roderick leaned forwards until his forehead hit the steering wheel. He stayed like that for a moment before opening the door and walking around to the back of the vehicle. It took him a moment to find his bag, and even then he knew he had to work quickly. He found the bottle he had taken from the safe house, shoved it in the pocket of his jacket, and packed his stuff away again. That would at least stop Mike from doing anything stupid. Roderick opened the bottle, reaching for Mike's drink.

...wait. What was he doing? He wanted Mike to trust him. If he drugged him now, he'd have to keep doing it. Not to mention the fact that he'd have to haul Mike's unconscious body around and force feed him and clean...yeah, that was a lot of work. It wasn't even what Roderick wanted (but really, what the hell did he want?). With a sigh, he closed the bottle and shoved it back in his pocket. It would at least be good to keep the damn thing around, just in case. But he wouldn't use it. Not yet.

The door opened, startling him out of his thoughts. Roderick waited until Mike had secured himself in the seat again before starting up the vehicle. Mike took a bite of his hamburger, savouring it, while Roderick grabbed a handful of fries. He wasn’t used to eating fast food, but figured it was better than starving to death.

“I made a decision,” Mike said.

“Oh yeah?”

“You were serious about the Carroll thing? I’m supposed to die.” Though he had a sneaking suspicion things were going to turn out in his favour, Roderick kept his glee to himself.

“Sniper shot to the head. No more Agent Weston. It’s all very sad for Ryan, of course. That death curse of his really is merciless.” He could practically hear the gears turning in Mike’s head as he spoke. “Joe’s still as pretentious as ever. Never understood the allure of the books.”

“I thought you were all Carroll junkies. Blind worship and all that.”

“Special case. Get to the point.” Mike chewed on his lip, taking a deep breath.

“I’ll go with you. To…wherever you were planning on dragging me. I thought I could handle this. Getting kidnapped, going through all of this. It’s my first major case with the BAU and I managed to fuck everything up. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be in that position again.” Well that worked out nicely, at least. Roderick felt warmth in his chest; it was complete and utter satisfaction.

“Alright.” Roderick pulled out of the parking lot, smirking. “You’ve made a good choice, Agent Weston.” Going with him was the only right choice, as far as Roderick was concerned. Joe had been so blinded by all his thoughts of a happy family that he’d completely forgotten the real purpose. They were supposed to make history together, and instead Joe was trying to play Dad to a kid who didn’t even know him. Pathetic.

“I hope so,” Mike said seriously. As they drove back the way they had come, Roderick finally felt at easy. They weren’t going back to the FBI. He wasn’t going to get arrested, or shot, and he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life rotting in a jail cell without even Joe to save him. Thankfully Mike had made the right choice. As he pulled back out onto the highway, they were quiet, save for the sound of eating.

Mike finished faster than Roderick, easily downing the last of his drink as well. It was the best meal he’d ever had. Or at least the best (and only) one he’d had in the last couple days. Even shitty fast food was better than hospital food. Mike crumpled the empty hamburger wrapper, tossing it on the dashboard. When Roderick wrinkled his nose, Mike laughed.

“Never been on a stakeout, have you?” Mike hadn’t exactly been on a ton either, but he had virtually lived on energy drinks and pizza all through college. Roderick pursed his lips, thinking on it. Havenport didn’t exactly have a lot of criminals that needed watching. That was why he had picked it as their base. The place was quiet, had a lot of open space to run around in, and it was fenced in in case anybody tried to do something stupid.

“No,” he said, trying to put the thoughts out of his head. Roderick Nelson was no longer Sheriff of Havenport. He wasn’t really even a member of Joe’s family either. Once again, he was alone. Mike was the only person he’d really talked to in the last few days. “Never been.”

“Mmm. The all night ones were killer.” Mike shifted down in his seat, stifling a yawn. Roderick tried not to smile. Okay, so maybe he was still in a good mood. It was a lot easier now that Mike wasn’t fighting him every step of the way. They were…finally being civil. As much as he liked the fight, Roderick preferred when things went his way. They could argue all they wanted once they got to the cabin and got settled. It was nice to feel some of the tension in the vehicle dissipate as well. 

It was funny how much more relaxing the drive was now that he wasn’t hungry or worried about Mike trying to murder him. He could finally…relax. When Roderick looked over, Mike was asleep. His head was pressed against the window, mouth open slightly, expression finally calm. Honestly? Weston looked downright _adorable_ and Roderick wanted to kick himself for ever letting that thought cross his mind. He wasn’t looking for anything like _that_. Grimacing, he dug the nails of one hand into his wrist to distract himself. Still, it was going to be a long drive and now he didn’t have anyone to talk to.

Roderick almost didn’t want to keep driving. It would be easier to turn himself in and cut a deal with the FBI. That’s what they wanted, anyway, and he’d bet everything he owned that Hardy would sacrifice a lot to save poor little Agent Weston. He seemed like the type to run headfirst into danger with a target on his back. That could probably be used to some advantage, but Roderick had absolutely no intention of ever seeing any member of the FBI again. Present company excluded, of course.

Finally – fucking _finally_ – he caught sight of the road and let out a sigh of relief. After shooting one last glance at the still-sleeping Mike, he turned off the highway and down a dirt road. The cult house had just been a temporary haven, he realized. Now he was really home.


	7. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike begins to settle in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is in sight! I hadn't even realized how long it had been since the last update (school will do that to you, apparently) and this chapter is definitely long overdue! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about all of you. Thanks for sticking with me :) I promise the next chapter will have a little more action for you guys!

It took Mike a moment to realize where he was when he woke up. The sun streaming through the open window was almost blinding. He groaned and stretched, trying to work out the stiffness in his neck. All that time sleeping in the vehicle had really done a number on both his sleep schedule as well as his exercise routine.

Right. They had gotten to Roderick’s safe house the previous night. Mike didn’t remember much of the trip – his nap had accounted for that. Roderick had woken him up once they’d gotten to the cabin, and Mike had woken up enough to carry his bag to his room before collapsing on the bed. He realized he hadn’t even taken the time to get his boots off before he’d fallen asleep. “Good job,” he muttered, leaning down to remedy his mistake. The movement sent a stab of pain through his stomach, and Mike couldn’t keep himself from crying out.

He collapsed back onto the bed, one hand pressed hard against his stomach. It didn’t help. The best he could do was lie back on the bed and wait for it to pass. Feeling fragile only served to make him angrier. He wasn’t _weak_. He’d survived the attack from the cult. He’d been shot at, kidnapped, beaten, and he’d still come out on top. But even now he was plagued by nightmares, wracked with pain that he refused to treat. It was hard to stay calm, though he tried counting his breaths until the roaring in his ears began to fade. Admittedly it was easier said than done.

He’d have to be more careful about moving now. If he ever got out of this alive, Mike was half sure that his doctor would strangle him. Of course, he had larger problems to worry about, like the fact that he had no idea how he was going to get his boots off. After some maneuvering and a few hesitant stretches, Mike figured out that lying on his back was the best way to reach his legs. Slowly, he folded his knees up to his chest, which allowed him to reach his boots.

God, that was embarrassing. He was glad that Roderick wasn’t there to laugh at him, or worse, help him. Mike dropped his boots on the floor, slowly working himself back into a sitting position. From there, he stood. The steady ache in his torso made him feel at least twice his age. Mike grimaced, taking a few hesitant steps. He was tempted to stretch, to work out the stiffness in his muscles, but didn’t want to risk the pain again. He’d just have to take things slowly. Again.

Now what? Exploring the area was out of the question, seeing as they were in the middle of nowhere. Mike looked around, finally deciding what he really wanted was a shower. He’d spent far too much time in the car without a break to really feel comfortable. He made his way over to the duffel he’d abandoned the previous night, digging through it to find a toothbrush and a clean pair of boxers. It surprised him to find some of his own clothes in the bag.

Had Roderick taken them? The cult knew which hotel the FBI was staying at, as evidenced by his kidnapping, but he never would have expected Roderick to go back for his clothes. Then again, he hadn’t expected to be kidnapped (twice) either.

Mike squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing a hand over his face. No wonder Ryan was an alcoholic. The amount of shit he had gone through in the last two weeks had to have taken at least fifteen years from his life, not that he expected to live very long. Not in his line of work.

With a grunt, he slipped out of his jacket. Mike hung it in the closet, patting his pockets to make sure his things were still there. Why Roderick might try to steal his stuff was beyond him, but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

When he finally left the room, his curiosity was immediately piqued. There hadn’t been any chance to explore last night; Mike was surprised he’d managed to make it to bed. Now, however, he wanted to see everything. But first, he had some personal issues to take care of.

The harsh light of the bathroom seemed to make everything look worse than it really was. Or perhaps it was the lack of sleep and decent food. Then again, it could be his little vacation in the hospital. Either way, it was the first time Mike really gotten a good look at himself in the last few days. His chest was a mess of colour – there was a fading red bruise over his heart, and the irony of that didn’t escape him. Coupled with the assortment of cuts and bruises left over from his bout with the Followers, Mike looked like a Jackson Pollock painting gone wrong.

Mike grimaced and took care of his business, trying not to look at himself. He showered as quickly as he could, finally feeling clean for the first time in days. Maybe now he’d be able to start working out a routine again. Then again, he probably shouldn’t go around getting so attached. Things could change in a heartbeat, as he’d already noticed. With the cult, he was never quite sure what level of crazy to expect next.

Once he was clean and dressed, Mike took to exploring. The cabin was small, but not claustrophobic. The furniture was sparse, and he noticed a significant lack of any decorations or personal effects. There were also a lot more books than he expected to see, crammed together on shelves and stacked up on the bathroom counter. He even found a pile of worn-out paperbacks in his closet. It was intriguing, really, seeing as they weren’t all books about Joe or Poe.

He figured he’d have to ask Roderick about it at some point. There was only one thing stopping him: the SUV was gone. Seeing as they were both wanted men, Mike knew he couldn’t have gone far. Still, he didn’t fancy wandering around in the woods searching for his missing partner in crime. If he tried, the only thing he’d get is lost. Roderick had neglected to tell him exactly where they were headed, and as a consequence Mike only had the barest idea of his current location. All he knew was that they were in a cabin somewhere in Pennsylvania, and that wasn’t much to go on.

Instead of worrying, he tried to do something to feed the growing void in his stomach. He’d been unconscious for most of his time in the hospital, and a liquid diet really didn’t do much for him. Mike felt weak, and he wanted to remedy that.

Breakfast consisted of whatever he could find in the fridge, which meant he made scrambled eggs and drowned them in ketchup to hide the fact that they were on the verge of going bad. As time passed, Mike once again began to wonder where Roderick had gone. Was _this_ the real plan? Get him out in the woods and leave him to starve to death? Mike wouldn’t have put it past him, really, but he’d had more than his fair share of creative tortures.

He had just put the dishes away when he heard the rumble of tires on gravel. Mike hurried to the window to see the SUV pulling in to the driveway. Roderick exited quickly, walking around to the back door and opening it. Mike watched curiously as a dog jumped out of the vehicle, brow furrowing. He hadn’t expected to see that.

As the front door opened, he turned towards the source of the noise. “Kitchen,” he called before Roderick could ask. Footsteps followed, and once again Mike was face to face with his kidnapper.

“Weston,” Roderick said in place of an actual greeting. Mike nodded in response. He wasn’t interested in Roderick at the moment.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked, gesturing at the dog. Roderick glanced down for a moment.

“This is Beau. He wandered in a couple years ago and decided to hang around.” Roderick had always liked animals better than people. He’d considered putting up posters, but the dog hadn’t been wearing a collar and he didn’t much care to get rid of it. Of course, the business with the cult wasn’t exactly pet-friendly. He’d had to leave Beau with someone in town whenever he was out – which was more often than not.

“Didn’t think you were the guard dog type,” Mike commented. He held out his hand for Beau to smell, moving to scratch him behind the ears. With a pang in his chest, he thought about his own dog. He’d asked his neighbour to take care of Kirby, but being away for so long still made him feel guilty. After this case was over and done with, he was going to cash in a _lot_ of vacation time.

“He’s a baby. Wouldn’t hurt a fly even if I asked.” Roderick went straight to the fridge, fishing out the container of orange juice. He didn’t bother with a glass, taking a swig right from the container. Mike considered complaining, but remembered he did the same thing at home. Bachelor habits, he supposed. “Have you eaten?”

“Made some eggs. Hope that’s okay.”

“Well, we’re going to be living together now.” Roderick looked almost sheepish. “Might as well get used to you doing your own thing.” He set the container of juice on the counter. Mike nodded absently. There was a weird kind of tension in the air. Now that they were no longer threatening each other, there was only a fragile tension in the air. One snap and the whole thing would come crashing down on them.

“So,” Mike started.

“If you want a tour,” Roderick said at the same time. They both stopped talking.

“Go ahead,” Mike offered. He gestured for Roderick to continue with his thought.

“You probably don’t need a tour. The place isn’t that big.” Roderick smirked for a moment, shrugging one shoulder. “You already looked around.” It wasn’t a question, and Mike didn’t deign to provide an answer.

“Not thoroughly.” He’d chosen to avoid Roderick’s room out of some weird respect for his privacy. The alliance they had formed was still in its early stages; it was tentative, almost hesitant. Mike didn’t want to break things just yet. “How did you get this place?” _Please don’t tell me you killed the last guy_ , he added silently.

There was a long pause. Mike wondered if that was the wrong question to ask when Roderick finally spoke. “It was my grandfather’s. He left it to me after my father died.”

Shit.

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Mike settled for nodding, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Finding out about dead relatives was always awkward, and apologizing made him feel like an ass. But not saying anything just made him look insensitive. Never mind the fact that he was worrying about hurting _Roderick’s_ feelings. Him, of all people. “Well.”

Roderick snorted, shaking his head. He shrugged it off and padded towards the living room. Beau followed on his heels. After a moment, Mike glanced at the container of juice. He picked it up and unscrewed the lid, taking a sip. Wordlessly he put the juice back in the fridge and walked towards the living room.

Though he’d done some exploring earlier, he still hadn’t really gotten everything he wanted out of the experience. Roderick had to have something hidden somewhere.

Mike’s eyes landed on a picture frame; there was a shelf standing near the couch. He had no idea that Roderick was the kind of keep mementoes around. He picked it up to examine it more closely. The photo contained four people: a much younger Roderick and three others, two boys and a girl. Mike knew they couldn’t be siblings – none of them looked anything alike. Still, there was something unified about the group.

“Who’s this?” Mike asked. Roderick snatched the picture frame out of his hand before Mike could react. It sent up all kinds of red flags. Roderick’s expression, however, silenced any questions Mike might have had. Clearly that was a topic they _didn’t_ speak about. Still, his mind raced with the possibilities. There were going to be secrets between them for a long time.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Roderick growled. Mike raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, stepping away from the shelf. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Roderick held onto the picture frame instead of replacing it. That was probably a query for another time. Instead of pressing the matter, Mike moved on. There was a shelf of records behind Roderick that looked more interesting anyway. At least he’d be able to distract himself with that.

Mike started at one end, picking out the first sleeve to examine it more closely. He was surprised to find that they had similar taste in music, more or less. Roderick didn’t seem like the type to listen to music, let alone actively seek out LPs. They were around the same age, weren’t they?

Roderick moved to sit on the couch, Beau padding after him. Mike barely spared them a glance, too absorbed in his task. He flipped through the records on the shelf, nodding approvingly. Roderick watched him, one hand buried in Beau’s fur. Mike couldn’t help but feel like he was being graded on something. Would the awkwardness ever fade, or were they stuck in acquaintance-limbo?

“So what the hell do you do out here?” Mike asked once he had reached the end of the shelf. He spun around to look at Roderick, tilting his head. Roderick blinked, looking surprised. “I mean, you can’t spend all your time sitting around and plotting evil.”

“Up until recently I had a job, _Michael_. And my…position with Joe made it hard to practice any hobbies.” Roderick pursed his lips, absentmindedly scratching Beau behind the ears. “He doesn’t know about this place. None of them do.” _You don’t need to worry about that_ went unsaid, but Mike could feel the sentiment. He wasn’t particularly eager to run into any other cult members, especially that woman.

_Then_ , a voice inside him said, _why are you spending time with this psychopath?_

A good question, one Mike didn’t really have an answer to. He settled himself in the armchair near the wall, sinking down into it. “How long have you been planning this?”

Roderick didn’t look at Mike. He sunk a little lower in his seat, feeling a weird sense of guilt. Of course, he’d always had a fail-safe plan. Putting his blind faith in someone as unstable as Joe was just stupid – the rest of the cult members didn’t get that. But he’d never really felt concrete about leaving, not at first. Slowly, though, the idea started to take hold. First it was the trio losing the farmhouse, and almost losing Joey in the process. Next, it was Weston’s own damn fault for not giving up Claire’s location.

It was clear that Joe had lost focus of the plan by that time. Roderick didn’t want to be around when the whole thing imploded. As much as he appreciated what Joe did for him – hell, as much as he loved Joe – he couldn’t stick around while the whole operation went belly-up. It went against every self-preservation instinct he had.

“It’s good to be prepared, pup.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Mike’s gaze was hard. “If you want this to work, we have to trust each other. Don’t we?” He smiled and tilted his head, demeanour changing in an instant. Roderick sighed, watching Mike’s fingers drum against the arm of the chair. He considered his options for a moment before shrugging slightly.

“It’s been a few years. Just in case, of course. But Joe… lost sight of the plan. I’m not going to jail because he made a mistake.”

“And what was the plan?”

“What, they didn’t tell you when you signed up for this?” Roderick snapped. He ran his free hand over his hair. “Joe Carroll. Wanted…to write a book. Starring your friend Ryan Hardy.”

“I have a hard time believing that all he wanted was the book. Why go to all the trouble to escape, get arrested, and then escape again?” Roderick glanced across the room at Mike, licking his lips.

“He’s not exactly the most stable person, Mikey. Once he gets fixated on something, it’s impossible to get him off of it. That’s just who Joe is. He spent almost ten years planning this book, this…sequel. And what’s a story without a few plot twists along the way?” It was all too easy to explain. Roderick had practically had the plan burned into his brain, at least while it still included him.

Mike didn’t have a response to that. He leaned back in the chair, sinking into the plush fabric. _You wanted this_ , he reminded himself. _You wanted to go with him_. And so far, he didn’t regret it. Mike still had a sneaking suspicion that things were about to crash down around his head, but, oddly enough, he was pretty okay with that. Is that what friendship was, or was this just the beginning?


	8. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get complicated for Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there's not really any excuse for the long wait with this one. School's a killer and I just haven't been feeling the muse lately. For those who are worried about this being a permanent WIP: I do plan to finish the fic! It might take a while (as you already know) but I have all the chapters and an eventual ending planned out. Thanks for sticking with me this far! It means a lot :)

Okay, so he’d been in a lot of weird situations before. Despite his lack of experience at the BAU, Mike had seen more than his fair share of weird shit. But this…wasn’t what he had been expecting at all. To actually be spending time with a wanted fugitive, a known killer? It was almost surreal.

It was also more than a little awkward. Despite the things they had in common, however contrived, there was a huge difference separating them. They were on opposite sides – or, at least, they had been. Mike couldn’t forget the way Roderick looked crouched above him. He couldn’t forget about that smile, about the ring of people around him, about the sheer sense of _helplessness_ he had felt.

That was enough to make their conversation stilted; neither of them knew quite what to say. Mike felt like he was back in middle school, trying to talk to a girl for the first time. Mostly they just sat in silence, occasionally broken by one of them shifting. Mike got the distinct impression that Roderick hadn’t planned things out beyond actually getting to the cabin. But where did that leave them?

Mostly it left them tiptoeing around each other like they had something to hide. Mike simply tried to pass the time, mostly by thumbing through the books Roderick had scattered throughout the place. Many of them were well-read, their bindings cracked and pages dog-eared.

“Minored in literature,” Roderick had said when Mike asked. “Winslow. Started collecting and couldn’t stop.”

That was about as far as the conversation got.

Predictably, that’s when they started drinking. It wasn’t a healthy coping method, but it made Mike feel better about things. And once they actually started talking, things seemed to go…remarkably smooth. Roderick was smart and they had a lot more in common than Mike cared to admit. The alcohol was just enough to loosen the tension between them.

“Y’know,” Roderick said thoughtfully, halfway through his third or fourth bottle of the night. “Was expectin’ another Hardy clone once we decided to go after you. Not a rookie. And then they drag in you.” He punctuated his statement with a poke to Mike’s chest. "Pretty little puppy Mike Weston. And you knew. You knew where Claire was." It was obvious, Roderick decided, given what they knew about Mike. And still, he held out. "But you didn’t say a damn thing.”

“Couldn’t say anything,” Mike retorted. “Nobody knew where she was. Not even me.” Why reveal it now? Withholding that information had been one of the few victories he’d managed to score against Roderick; his pride wouldn’t let it go that easily. Just because he’d agreed to go along with that damn plan didn’t mean he completely trusted Roderick. He wasn’t stupid, after all.

“You’re really bad at lying, just for future reference.”

Later, if asked, Mike wouldn’t be able to say exactly how it started. One minute, he was sprawled on the couch with a beer in his hand. The next, he had a lap full of Roderick and the beer was on the floor. Thankfully the carpet broke its fall, but he didn’t have much time to think about it because  _holy shit Roderick was kissing him_.

“What’re you…” The rest of his question was cut off by another press of Roderick’s lips.

“Shh,” Roderick murmured. “Shut your mouth.” He settled himself more firmly in Mike’s lap, hands still fisted in Mike’s shirt.

“You’re really drunk,” Mike retorted. This never would have happened had they both been sober. Christ, it was all he could smell on Roderick. “You smell like a bar.”

“You don’ mind Ryan Hardy.”

“Ryan doesn’t try to make out with me.”

“You kissed me too.” _Technically true_ , Mike thought. Hesitantly, he leaned forwards and touched his fingers to Roderick’s jaw. He could almost hear his own heart pounding – but with fear or excitement? It had been a long time since he’d had anything close to a relationship, so…yeah, he was getting a little excited.

The first press of lips was just as hesitant as his first touch. Mike wasn’t quite sure how far to go, how much he should push himself – or push Roderick. He’d never admit to being the tiniest bit scared. Roderick’s lips parted slightly, and he made a soft noise. “Come on,” he murmured, looking Mike in the eyes. The kid had it in him; Roderick was sure of that. He just needed a little encouragement.

“Shut up,” Mike ordered, punctuating it with a gentle bite. Roderick’s chuckle only served to incite him. He pressed forward, cupping Roderick’s face to keep him still.

The kissing grew more insistent until there were fingers scrambling to undo the buttons of his shirt. Mike grunted as he heard the rip of fabric, barely pausing to mourn the loss of his shirt before he felt a hand on his chest. _That’s one way to do it_ , Mike thought. He didn’t have as much luck with Roderick, unfortunately.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, Roderick pulled away and pulled his shirt over his head, forgoing buttons entirely. “Much better,” he breathed. It was a strange feeling, to see Roderick like that. Mike wasn’t sure what to call the feelings running through him. It was all too confusing to process.

Slowly, Roderick trailed a finger down Mike’s stomach. He paused at the waistband of Mike’s jeans, chancing a look at Mike.

_Oh_ , Mike thought. He exhaled slowly, fingers digging into the soft material of the couch.  “Wow,” he said. He should really have moved, tried to clean himself up, even just cover himself, but he really didn’t want to move at all. All he did was sit back and idly watch as Roderick pulled away.

“One way of puttin’ it.” Roderick stared back at him. He glanced down to Mike’s chest before looking him in the eyes again. It wasn’t the most impulsive thing he had done – though it certainly came close – but he still couldn’t quite figure out if that had been a good idea or not. Finally, he eased himself off the couch and leaned down to pick up his T-shirt.

“Is that it, then?”

Roderick paused, shirt in hand. He bit down on his cheek for a moment before giving Mike a long stare. “For now. Maybe.”

Why the fuck not, right?

Part of Mike couldn’t believe that had just happened. He really only had time to contemplate things later, once he had gotten himself into the shower. The full gravity of the situation hadn’t really hit him until that moment. This was something he couldn’t take back. _So what?_ he thought. All they’d done was kiss. Clothes _had_ been removed, though they hadn’t gotten passed that stage. Either way, some kind of barrier had been broken.

Once he was clean, clothed in a soft shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, Mike decided he shouldn’t make a big deal out of things. They had both been drinking. Shit happened when you drank, whether you liked it or not. They were both well aware of that fact, especially given their knowledge of Ryan Hardy. The thought reassured him as he padded back to the bedroom. Things would work out in the end. When he opened the door of the room, however, Mike was in for yet another surprise.

Roderick was curled up in his bed, tapping out a rhythm on the mattress. He perked up when he caught sight of Mike, looking at him expectantly.

“Yours broken?” Mike asked. He decided to ignore the intrusion and get on with sleeping. Drinking didn’t do much beyond make him tired. He wasn’t buzzed enough for much more than curling up and trying to get a few hours in.

“Didn’t mind sharing last time.” Roderick sat up, looking at Mike thoughtfully. “Why are you so determined to avoid me?”

“I’m not. You just…don’t make sense to me anymore.” Mike slipped under the covers, settling onto the mattress. “Besides, you’re drunk. You probably won’t even remember this in the morning.” He watched as Roderick settled in as well. There were a few inches of space between them, though it was nowhere near enough to protect against any kind of contact.

“Life is supposed to be a great mystery, Mikey. We’re all just stumbling along trying to figure things out.”

It was a far cry from the Roderick he had been used to. That man had been cool and calculating. Somehow, Mike didn’t think that image of Roderick would stick around for long. Then again, he’d just have to wait and see. Though he didn’t know exactly where the next few days would take them, he was eager to find out.


	9. Intermission, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan is revealed; Ryan gets a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, a timely update! This chapter is a little short, but we’re in the home stretch now! Thanks for sticking with me this far, and remember to let me know what you think! :)

The case was getting to him.

Ryan couldn’t have cared less about Joe at that exact moment in time. All he wanted to ensure was Mike’s safety. Why hadn’t they done more to protect him? The kid was little more than fresh out of the Academy. He’d already been kidnapped once because of his involvement with the case. Like always, Ryan felt the blame for Mike’s disappearance fall squarely on his shoulders.

Not to mention the fact that the last three days had seen him trapped in an ongoing argument with one Debra Parker. They were both fairly set in their ways; both were convinced they knew exactly how to handle the situation. Admittedly, Ryan knew Debra’s methods were a little more orthodox. He wasn’t technically an FBI agent anymore; why be confined to procedure?

“We have to find him,” Ryan said for the fifth time that day. By that point, he had started repeating arguments. “We don’t know what Roderick wants him for.” He chose to ignore the fact that so far, they’d had zero luck in their search. Wherever he had gone, Roderick had covered his tracks well. Not even the vehicle had turned up. “Mike could be dead for all we know. He doesn’t want a ransom, but he has to be using him for something…”

“Ryan…” Like it or not, they had bigger things to worry about. The disappearance of an agent would have taken priority, had the FBI not had to worry about Joe’s cult. They were already stretched thin enough trying to locate the cult’s safe house. Ryan’s determination to save Mike was only distracting them from the larger goal. Though she hated to admit it, Debra knew that Mike was capable of taking care of himself. He’d survived his brush with death. He could hold his own against Roderick until they finished the case and came for him.

“Don’t. Don’t say that Joe should take priority. Mike’s out there with a serial killer, and we’re worrying about a group of Poe junkies?”

“Joe’s not going to like you ignoring him. Roderick’s disappearance wasn’t part of the plan. That’s got to have him on edge already. Ignoring his demands is only going to make him escalate. We can’t have any more civilian casualties.” Debra fixed Ryan with a stern look, crossing her arms. “Mike’s a trained FBI agent. He knows how to take care of himself. We don’t know where to start with them anyway. There aren’t any leads. The only thing we can do is take down Joe and hope for the best.”

The icy stare Ryan gave her didn’t elicit a reaction, though Debra knew how much it had to hurt him to hear her say it. She felt guilty even as she tried to remind herself that Mike wasn’t the priority. They had a group of unstable people running loose throughout the entire country. One agent could be sacrificed during the hunt for the cult. It was for the greater good.

Attempting to rationalize things didn’t make her feel any better, however.

“Roderick was Joe’s right hand. If we find him, we find the cult. He’ll want to cut a deal. He’s got Mike. That already means he’s got leverage over us.” Ryan’s voice was set; he wasn’t going to change his mind easily. Not that it was generally easy to get him to sway his course when an idea took hold in his mind.

“Ryan, we’ve got an objective. We know what we have to do–”

Ryan’s phone rang. Everyone in the immediate vicinity stopped their work and turned to look at him.

The number wasn’t one Ryan recognized. Even more curious was the fact that it wasn’t blocked. Had Joe really made such a rookie mistake? Ryan held the phone up to his ear, silently gesturing to Mitchell. This could mean the end of the case.

“What do you want, Joe?”

The voice that answered was most definitely not Joe, and it wasn’t a voice Ryan had expected to ever hear again.

“Ryan?”

Ryan immediately felt cold. His mind began racing. How did the kid get access to a phone? This had to be a trick. Unless…what if Roderick had really taken Mike back to cult? Were they going to try and torture more information out of him? Were they going to make Ryan listen? “ _Mike_?”

At the sound of Mike’s name, everyone in the immediate vicinity perked up. Ryan gestured frantically and people began to spring into action. Ryan set the phone down on the desk, hitting the speaker button.

“It’s me. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up or not. Listen, Ryan, there’s not a whole lot of time–” A muffled thump interrupted him. “ _Just a minute_!” With his voice lowered, Mike continued, “I’m in a restaurant in Pennsylvania. Roderick’s got…he’s got something planned out. Some kind of hiding spot. Ryan, I don’t think he’s with Joe anymore. He’s talking like he’s got his own plan.”

“How did you get a phone? He can’t be that stupid.”

“Apparently.” Mike sighed. “I borrowed one from someone inside. I can keep the line open if you need it. You can come and find us.”

“Leave it open as long as you can. We’ll try and triangulate the location. It’s going to be okay, Mike.” Something nagged at the back of his mind. Why hadn’t Mike called the police? There was the chance they’d lose Roderick, but the idea of Mike going into things alone and unarmed made him nervous.

“I know. I’m going to see what else I can get out of him. Just until you get here.”

“Mike…” Ryan took a deep breath, speaking carefully. “You know the dangers of immersing yourself in the case. Don’t lose sight of what’s important. Just because you're FBI doesn't mean you're invincible.” Ironic, really, that Ryan should be the one lecturing about that particular subject. Still, he knew that there was something special about Mike. The kid had already been through so much. If he permanently damaged himself trying to get close to Roderick…Ryan didn’t think he’d be able to forgive himself for that.

“I owe him for what happened in the shipyard. I’m not going to forget about that.” Mike’s voice was rough, missing its characteristic cheerfulness. “Even if he left the cult, he’s been running things for almost ten years. If anybody has information on how to take down Joe, it’s him. Don’t worry about what happens to me.”

Ryan glanced up at Debra, sighing deeply. While they needed to address the fact that Mike was willingly throwing himself at one of the country's most dangerous fugitives, they both knew that Mike wouldn't listen.

“Be careful, Mike. We’ll come get you as soon as we can.”

“I’ll be here. Look, Ryan, I’ve got to go. I’ll keep the line open.”

Mitchell turned down the phone’s volume as a muffled noise burst out of the speakers. “We’ve got it,” she said. “If he doesn’t hang up, we can track him right back to Roderick.”

They all listened to the noise coming from the phone; Mike was walking quickly, judging from the sound of it. Ryan only hoped that the kid didn’t dig himself too deep a hole. He’d already gone through more than most agents. Adding a case of Stockholm Syndrome – or worse – on top of that could be catastrophic.

“We’ll find him.” Ryan felt more like he was trying to reassure himself than anyone else. Mike felt like his responsibility. “And once we do, we’re taking Joe down.”


	10. The Penultimate Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan is put into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more left, guys! :)

Sunlight streamed in through the window, dragging Mike from the dark clutches of sleep. As he opened his eyes, he let out a groan. Why did everything have to be so damn bright? He wasn’t even the one who had started drinking the night before. Sure, he’d had a few, but he generally wasn’t prone to hangovers. Maybe it was just the blinding light.

As he slipped out of bed, Mike glanced back at the space he had vacated. Roderick was curled slightly towards him, one arm outstretched. This marked the second time Mike had shared a bed with Roderick. Weirdly enough, he didn’t quite mind as much anymore. Was that a sign of him getting attached, or just him realizing that Roderick wasn’t as evil as he had originally thought? Maybe evil was a strong word.

Ryan’s words about Stockholm Syndrome echoed through his mind. Did that apply to this situation? The power imbalance certainly had been upset, though Roderick hadn’t hurt him much to begin with. Not after the hospital, anyway. But all this was beside the point. Things were going to change very soon, no doubt about that. He just hoped that Roderick’s self-preservation instincts extended beyond simply escaping from the cult.

A noise escaped his sleeping partner, startling Mike out of his thoughts. Reflexively, he clenched his hand into a fist. After a few tense seconds, he began to relax. Mike padded out of the room, careful to stay quiet. His morning routine was easy enough. Shower, brush teeth, attempt to change his bandage without crying out. Though he was just going through the motions, Mike found some kind of comfort in the actions.

He made his way to the kitchenette, stopping to let Beau out of the house along the way. The sight of the dog bounding into the woods made him smile for a moment. This place was peaceful. Maybe he’d have to come back one day.

The door swung shut, and Mike shook his head. Maybe not.

He poked around the kitchen, locating some bread and eggs. Cooking always made him feel calmer, something he knew he’d need later. And they might as well eat something before the day’s activities.

The eggs had just gone into the pan when Roderick padded out, sitting down at the small table. He folded his hands on top, turning to watch Mike with the eggs. “Morning,” he said.

“Morning,” Mike replied. He glanced out the window, one hand still grasping the handle of the frying pan. “Mind putting the toast in?”

Roderick grunted an affirmative, walking over to the counter and following Mike’s direction. They were both quiet, focused on their own tasks. The silence continued even when both were seated at the table and eating.

Though breakfast was quiet, Mike couldn’t help but worry. Was he being too suspicious? Maybe he should say something. Slowly, he looked passed Roderick and out the window. This time, he was rewarded with a welcome sight.

The sound of tires on gravel was unmistakeable. Roderick followed Mike’s gaze out the window, watching a slick black SUV pull up in the driveway. For a split second, everything was calm. There was a crash as Roderick threw his plate and pushed away from the table, taking off. Mike followed half a second later. Thankfully, all those years spent playing football with his brothers had paid off. He caught Roderick with a flying tackle, sending them both crashing to the ground. The shock of hitting the floor sent a jolt of pain through his stomach, but Mike wasn’t letting go. Not when they were this close.

Roderick kicked out angrily, hand closing into a fist. He didn’t have a whole lot of room to swing, but he did his best to fight back anyway. He wasn’t the one with the weak spot, after all. And he wasn’t just threatened, he was _angry_. That fury was what allowed him to kick Mike away and pin him down.

The feeling of Mike’s flesh bruising under his skin wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he had imagined it to be. Roderick went for another approach. He dropped both hands to Mike’s stomach, clawing at the still-healing wound. If he was going down, he was going to cause as much damage as he could to the one responsible. All he focused on was Mike, ignoring the bang that echoed when someone kicked in his front door.

Mike let out a shriek of pain. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Roderick would play dirty. Then again, he hadn’t expected to lose his upper hand. His vision went grey around the edges as he felt a hand against his stomach. Punches turned to frantic shoving, thought process dimming to a single goal: _get it away get it away get it **away**_. He barely registered the sounds of gunfire, of shouting.

“ _Put your hands behind your head and step away_!”

Despite his anger, Roderick put more stock in himself than his need for revenge. Safe to say, survival instincts took over, and he slowly lifted his hands. A masked officer grabbed him, twisting his arms behind his back. All the while, Roderick’s thoughts were racing. _How could you?_ It wasn’t immediately clear whether he was berating Mike, or himself.

_I trusted you_.

_You trusted him_.

The handcuffs around his wrists were cold, echoing the icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. At that point, he couldn’t remember ever having hated someone so much. As he was escorted to an FBI vehicle, he looked around for Mike. The coward wouldn’t even meet his gaze. And then the door shut on him, shutting out his last hopes.

***

Well, he was standing again. The near-constant pain threatened to bring him back to his knees, but Mike was trying to hold on. As it were, he found himself leaning against the wall of the cabin watching people swarm the building.

“Mike.” Mike turned, a sigh of relief escaping him. It was a strange juxtaposition. The last time he’d seen Ryan, he had been bleeding out in an abandoned warehouse. Ryan had been holding on to him for dear life. Maybe they had both been crying. While Ryan wasn’t the most touchy-feely of guys, it was still nice to see someone familiar.

“Hey, Ryan,” he said slowly. The weight against him had barely registered when Mike realized that Ryan was hugging him. He returned the favour, wrapping his arms around Ryan for a moment before letting them drop.

“How are you doing?”

Every single nerve in his torso was screaming. Mike barely knew how he could stand. He’d sold Roderick out to the FBI and almost certainly gained another target on his back. He swayed and stumbled for a moment before Ryan caught him and put him upright.

“I’m fine,” Mike growled. Nevermind the fact that this stunt had probably earned him another stay at the hospital. _Great_. “Never better.”

“We’ll get you checked out, don’t worry.”

_Yeah, yeah_ , Mike thought. He glanced at the SUV they had put Roderick in, instinctively clutching at his stomach as another stab of pain shot through him. Even through the tinted window, Mike could see Roderick’s features. It wasn’t hard to mistake the look of hurt and anger on his face. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel guilty. It was all part of the job, right?

“Twice in a row,” Ryan murmured. “He’s not going to be happy about that.”

“What?” Mike looked over at Ryan, brow furrowing.

“First he left Joe. From what I’ve heard, they had a bit of a falling out. And then there’s you. Now you sold him out to the FBI. I don’t think he’s going to forgive that easily.” Ryan patted Mike’s shoulder, turning away from the vehicle. He walked off, leaving Mike to his thoughts.

Once again, Mike made eye contact with Roderick. It was somehow harder to keep his gaze, knowing what had transpired between them. While Mike may not have trusted Roderick, he knew that Roderick had put at least a little faith in him. Maybe not to the extent he had believed in Joe, but they had connected on some level. And even after he turned away, he imagined he could still feel Roderick’s eyes boring holes into his back.

_Watch yourself_ , they seemed to say. _You won’t be safe forever_.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after the Carroll case, Mike reflects on what has lead him up to this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long journey, but here we are one year later! Thanks for sticking with me the whole way through, and thank you so much for showing me that all this work wasn’t in vain. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. It’s been a hell of a ride.

The problem with being on leave was that Mike had never realized exactly how _long_ a day was. Normally he spent his time hunting down criminals, trawling through case files. With the Carroll case, things had been running almost non-stop. Now, however, he was struggling just to pass the time and go to sleep. Not that he got much sleep. There were still Followers to hunt down, of course, but the main body had been apprehended and sent off to prison. Mike had even gotten a nice Christmas bonus for his hardship; that wasn’t much to offset his dismissal, however. Now he was stuck in FBI limbo, not officially dismissed, but not going back to work any time soon either.

Everything had become difficult. Everything had changed.

Debra Parker was dead. Ryan was no longer speaking to him. His family had all but cut him off after the last outburst. The few friends he had managed to cultivate outside of the FBI had all but disappeared. All he had were the dogs. Thankfully Beau got along just fine with his terrier. Mike hadn’t wanted to leave the dog alone; it wasn’t his fault.

Mike paced around the kitchen while he waited for his dinner to heat up. He found himself examining random objects, furtively glancing at the oven every few seconds.

The oven timer let out a ding, which set the dogs off. Mike sidestepped his terrier, shooting a glance towards the corner of the kitchen. Beau stared back, letting out a yawn. “Don’t look at me like that,” Mike muttered. “Get off. Go lie down.” He nudged Kirby with his foot, retrieving his oven mitts and taking his dinner out to cool. He left it on top of the stove, resetting the timer.

Kirby barked again, eliciting a sigh from Mike. He picked up the dog, scratching behind his ears. “Shh. It’s just the oven.” A smile escaped as Kirby licked his face. At least the dog still loved him.

Supper was just as quiet as it always was, consisting of a TV dinner and a beer on the couch. Mike had seen enough pictures of himself on the news that he tended to avoid it altogether now. There were only so many variations of the same report he could stand to listen to before he wanted to break something. And why listen to it at all when he had lived through everything? Despite everything that had happened, he survived. Instead of listening to another report about how the world was going to hell, he flipped over to an old Seinfeld rerun and settled in for the night.

No more than a minute into the episode, his phone started buzzing. It had been hard to break the habit, but since his leave from the FBI, Mike had stopped carrying it with him 24/7. Usually he just dropped it wherever he used it last. Nowadays, that simply meant hanging up on whoever was trying to argue with him. Talking to his family had become more of a chore than anything else. They didn’t understand why he’d done what he had. Nobody understood.

After moving his dinner, he started searching. Occasionally the phone would remind him he had a new message, letting out a helpful chime. Finally, he managed to pinpoint its location, digging in the couch cushions to retrieve it. There was a single new text message from his brother:

_Check the news_

Almost immediately, an icy feeling of dread shot through him. Ignorance truly was bliss, it seemed. While he didn’t know what awaited on the other channel, Mike was well aware of the fact that he would have been far happier not knowing. Despite this, he picked up the remote and switched over to the local news channel, tossing his phone away from him. He only had to wait about thirty seconds before he got his answer.

“ _Citizens are advised to be on the lookout for Tim Nelson, who may be going by the alias Roderick. Nelson escaped from prison earlier today…_ ” The rest of the report trailed off into white noise as he heard his phone ring. Mike frantically jumped up from the couch. His leg caught in the blanket, and he nearly tripped over the coffee table. As his shin smashed into the corner, rattling the assortment of cans on the table’s surface, Mike let out a curse.

“Fuck!” He dove to the other end of the couch, reaching for his phone and answering it in one swift move.

“Hello?” Mike glanced at the TV, which displayed a picture of Roderick’s mug shot. For the first time, he could truly imagine how Ryan felt a year ago. Dreading every phone call, staying glued to case information. Fearing for whatever plot twist might come next, orchestrated by whatever brand of crazy that had latched onto him this week. Roderick’s face stared back at him from the television, stony blue eyes seeming to look _through_ him. The news anchor droned on.

The TV spoke to him.

No, the voice came from the phone. It was a voice he recognized, albeit one he hadn’t heard in person for almost a year. The one that still haunted his dreams.

“Hello, Michael.”


End file.
